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I lose my fingers keeping count the number of kids lost by murder count in the eastern districts media houses dread Patches of brown-black roofs on aerial view Aunt hills of buildings single roomed Shoot to kill, a governing tool Stiff figures of teens bullet riddled a common thing amongst those shortlisted by fate to call home Survival be the theme U haven't heard of Vumilia a small suburb rich in thugs at least that's the word best used by the papers you so dearly trust To denote a group of youths unexposed to a mastery of trades The elderly in their twenties those swift enough to dodge bullets agile enough to survive the batsmen and have caught the eyes of political dignitaries war veterans with all due respect Kim was almost nineteen died graffited with bullet holes Sarah was barely seventeen wrong place at the wrong time shooter: a blue boy in his fortys We hath from a vicinity where weakness is a rare condition and the site of a parked car sparks a dollar bill imagery crowded class rooms, empty bellies a deadbeat government a thing called hope

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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