I don’t like living here.
There’s no heat in winter.
It’s sweaty hot in summer.
None of the people are nice.
This one guy wants to sex me.
I told him I was only twelve
but that didn’t matter to him.
He keep trying to touch me
whenever he comes close
and he’s very scary.
I told mom but she didn’t care,
always high with her boyfriend.
I talked to the social worker
but she wouldn’t do anything.
I’ll try to keep him off me
but he keeps offering stuff
that no one else will give me.
So maybe I’ll let him sex me.
Why not? Nobody else cares.
I always tried to be positive
no matter what went wrong.
I didn’t get promotions
at my long term job
as a statistical analyst,
while the people I worked with
got bonuses, raises,
much better positions.
Then they let me go
after seventeen years
with two weeks severance.
We didn’t have children
but we had a little house
in a nice neighborhood
and lived quietly,
until the streets turned bad
with drugs and violence.
We couldn’t afford to move,
so we didn’t go out much.
Then Carrie got sick.
Expenses mounted.
I took a service job
without benefits
making coffee.
Carrie keeps getting worse.
My insurance won’t cover her.
Without special treatment
she won’t get better.
I phoned my old boss,
told him I needed coverage
but he wouldn’t do anything.
Carrie was the one bright thing
in my difficult life
and now she’s going to die
because we can’t afford the cure.
She’s always so brave
it breaks my heart.
I won’t tell her this
but after she’s gone
I’ll get an AR-15,
visit the old office
and thank them
for not helping her.
I watch the rich kids come and go
and they never notice me
a big, anonymous black guy
in a rent-a cop uniform
with no relationship at all
to the students of privilege,
who barely acknowledge me
when I ask for their I.D.
I get paid minimum wage
with almost no benefits
and no job security.
Even though it’s not spelled out
there is an expectation
that I will protect these kids,
even at the risk of my life.
If a lunatic with weapons
comes to the entrance shooting
I’m getting out of the way
and we’ll see if their wealth saves them.
No matter how tired I feel
I keep smiling.
It makes the patients feel better,
reassures them nothing’s wrong,
yet it becomes harder each day,
especially on the weekend
where every irresponsible person
O.Ds on drugs or liquor,
gets shot or stabbed,
breaks something,
has some kind of infection…
The cases are non-stop,
each demanding my care
which is what I trained for.
But nursing school didn’t prepare me
for the Covid epidemic
that hospitalized so many.
They consumed our energy
going from patient to patient
hoping to control fevers,
trying to save lives,
trying to come to terms
with those we lost.
I was getting depressed,
beginning to despair
we’d never survive the virus,
when a smart, older nurse
took me aside:
“No matter what they tell us,
we’re at war
and we’re the first line of defense.
No matter what happens
it’s up to us
to save the patients,
no matter how tired we get.”
I thanked her and on my way home
after a grueling shift
when too many died
though we did our best,
I found new resolve
to return to the E.R.
and do my best
not to lose anyone else.
Two of the big guys
for my initiation
beat the shit our of me
so bad I hurt for a week.
But I didn’t cry or quit,
so I was accepted
and now belong to the gang.
No one mess with me now,
or the gang get them good.
I asked my new bros
when I get a gun
and they laughed at me.
‘You a midget, boy.
Didn’t no one tell you?
Juniors don’t get guns.
Only seniors get guns.
You be how old? Thirteen?
You gotta wait a long time’.
Objectives is an unpublished poetry collection that reveals the demands, fears and troubles of a struggling society no longer capable of resolving difficult problems: 'Shelter', 'Burden', 'Security Guard', 'The E.R.', 'Gang Boy'.