His younger brother died
Some time ago
So he sat and cried
Eating his happy meal
Ironically
Sitting on the fourth church pew
We sang hymns
He prayed curses
To a God that didn't seem to hear
Or a mother that wore too much make-up
A father that beat him every day
Wise eyes
Written on his face
At such a young age
Now
As I stroll the grounds
Feeling you six and a half feet beneath
I learned what you knew
All along
How can you not pity his place?
Should have known
For fear of the footsteps
At bedtime