Why Can't You?

He was once a good Christen


to the waxen statue of the virgin Mary

his hands firmly pressed.

His words,

his vows,

his litany

didn't stop him from frowning


kissing me to firmly.

He was once a good soldier,

taught to hurt

so he hurt people,

his baby boy

a little soul wrapped tightly inside a bassinet

with a mother's love as his shield.

It didn't stop his daddy though,

from beating him to death.

He was once a good husband



on nasty love

and roses

until his weeks of ecstasy

became to usual,

to predictable,

so he found new joys with the homeless whore

on the side of the road

flaunting proudly

her rainbow wardrobe

and plastic covered sign

with words written in ruby red lipstick:

"Sex for food!"

He was once a little boy


with unformed mussels

and a crooked smile

he was once mama's little boy

until the bullies took his lunch money

every day until high school

then he snapped,

and couldn't take it any more

and brought that gun to school

the next day

the headlines read:


He was once a good student

until that desire,

and lust to be better then the rest and get just one more "A"

took him to the street

"have to study all night"

so why not pop a few pills,

it's nothing

I'm not addicted

until he took one to many

and his mother had to bury her only son.

In my youth

I can see all of these things

why can't you?