Save My Son

He stands and returns the lonely gaze of a man
with two coats and a tin cup.
He paws at his sides and hears a jingle;
the sweet sound of charity wanting out.
Digging, he finds the copper and steps forward -

-clink-

A few more steps and he sees them -
a group of long-haired, tattooed boys,
drinking from a brown bag; grey hands rolling weed in the cold -
coughing, strep-throat babies,
They call to him -

-want a hit?-

A girl is standing 3 benches up,
lipstick smeared, black lines written down her cheeks.
He stops and stares as a car drives to her,
and she leans in,
resting her ripped leather jacket on its open window.
She winks at him -

-hey there sweetie-

He looks at me, eyebrows raised,
asking so much with no words.

And I picture him dying with a needle in his arm on his 16th birthday.