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Have I spent too much time worrying about the boys killing each other to pray for the ones who do it with their own hands? Is that not black on black violence? Is that not a mother who has to bury her boy? Is it not the same play? The same plot & characters? The curtain rises, then: a womb a boy a night emptied of music a trigger a finger a bullet then: lights. It always drives the crowd to their feet. An encore of boy after boy after sweet boy            — their endless, bloody bow. They throw dirt on the actors like roses until the boys are drowned by the earth & the audience doesn’t remember what they’re standing for.