on his arms and shoulders,
weighting him like sandstone
boulders, from someone larger
than him, with mountain

hands that knock down
trees, limb to limb. It hurts!
It hurts! The boy said. His eyes,
swimming pools of ******

red. Bad boy! Bad boy! Sit in your
chair. He'll slap your face and
pull your hair. His mother cannot
eat or sleep, to see her son

bruised and beat. This is
a wicked world, men punching
boys and ****** girls. I have no
will to live in it. A black eye,

a split lip. Hands around
his neck, in a tight death
grip. Nothing here changes.
We are all strangers.

For Alex