Kindra, Who Is This Man

Chipped paint

A gate with half a lock

Windows with drawn shades

Brown grass litters the driveway

Graffiti colors the liquor store

Next door shouting and glass crashing

Makes their mark on the whole

Neighborhood silently watching

Peeled up ears take in brittle replies

Matched against the daunting fear

Mercedes Benz with Florida tags pulls up

Hands exchange shakes, then dumbfounded

671 rolls by unawares

Blue Hoodie 1 looks up at the house

The creaky, leaky


We’re used to this, the air might concede

But this is far worse than normal

I smell blood when I breathe

Growing silent

Then exploding with fire and finality

Echoes confirmed the divide

We thought it might be

With a shot through the black

And a chorus of guttural groans

The conflict ended

With his final stand

“Kindra, who the fuck is this man!”

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