In the scheme of dying
they say you were helpless
the proof lay in your
candy tastes, your
sweet tooth marking you
a child.  the reason why
you were so
unprepared. . .
No report yet on the fate
of the skittles
and bottle of sweet
commercial tea.  did
your skittles skitter
across the sidewalk?
were they your double oh seven
secret weapon too
a sinister collusion with the concrete
also deftly wielded, honorable men say,
by you.  is this the way you
waylaid your stalker
him so disarmed
so unsuspectingly
delivering you his
one gun salute?
And what was the fate of the tea?
no telling.  did the bottle break?  is that how
this cradle did fall?  did he litter?
did he leave a mess behind?
And why is he dead?
didn’t he watch MacGyver?  didn’t he see
West Side Story by Bernstein and Sondheim?  was he
culturally deprived? why didn’t he break
that bottle, spill that tea, wield
the jagged edge,
cut propaganda’s throat.  stuff its big
mouth with skittles?
I mean, what is wrong witchu you?  boy!
is you crazy?
didn’t yo mama raise you?
well, now you raised!
yeah.  now you been raised. . . .