I am not angry at the killer
I repeat
That I am not angry at the killer
He/She left their license plate on the lawn at 5 AM
Just two tire screeches of rubber on Myrle Avenue
Just one plume of smoke from scorched earth
Just two faces
Just two bullets
Just two faces with bullets
Just two faces too dead on Thursday morning.
Just a normal morning on Myrle avenue
Where shots are always and death is daily
Just two more shots
and two more faces
Except my phone rang in the afternoon
and I knew that someone was dead.
I repeat that I am not angry at the killer.
I am angry at the life so tumultuous that placed her in the range of a gun.
I am so sad that she never rose above the challenges to sing.
She died like all my family lives.
She died as a fighter with skin beneath her fingernails
