His Life Mattered, Part Ii
She screamed frantically, “My boy is in there!
Somebody, please! Help Him!” But nobody cared.
The mob was all running, fleeing the scene,
on her brother’s face the firelight gleamed.
“You have to help Keenan, he’s still inside!”
she bellowed, but then saw there in Drew’s eyes
the shock of cowardice deep in his soul,
he stammered and then said, “We have to go.”
With that he ran off, leaving her quite stunned,
but then she saw moving the man with a gun.
He didn’t run off, he made for her house,
smashed through the door with a loud, frantic shout.
He left the gun outside, disappeared within,
Jacinta was speechless, she didn’t know him,
she had just stood there while they burned his shop,
and he had just ran into flames quite hot.
A minute then passed, and she heard loud cries
come from her Keenan as they came outside,
her boy was crying, but clung to the man,
his face was sooty, but still he did stand.
He paced out to here, passed off her son,
went back to the door and picked up his gun,
then came back and saw her look of despair,
said, “How could you leave him alone in there?”
She couldn’t speak up, she was too ashamed,
the shock of it all just stymied her brain,
she had left her son, not giving much thought,
and understood now just what they had wrought.
The man just walked off, and said nothing more,
leaving her there, her mind wrapped in horror,
she now had no home, it had come to this,
was this the ‘real change? Was this the justice?
And then came the guilt as she realized
how stupid she was to leave him inside,
how little she’d thought, how she’d only felt,
nearly consigning Keenan to burning hell.
She went to her mom’s place, and there remained,
for long days just sat there, wrapped in the pain,
she felt change inside, but around her there
people just went on with barely a care.
They kept on rioting, called it 'protest',
destroyed their own towns, caused mayhem and death,
kept claiming that somehow it was justified,
even her brother kept screaming outside.
He’d seen it, he’d been there, he’d watched it all burn,
how could he still do this? Her stomach churned.
But she was alone, her own mother still
seemed to ignore her grandson was near killed.
Jacinta had never felt so alone,
faced doubts that before she had never known,
they kept screaming out that she should hate whites,
but could she hate that man? It didn’t feel right.
CONTINUES IN PART III.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2022
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