This poem was written about two separate events senior year. One was a drive-by that involved a little kid getting killed, while the other was an acquaintance from school killing a rival rather coldly. I combined the two because my memory over time had done that, but maybe somewhere in the fiction is the perspective I was searching for.
We crept up slow, not sure
which house was it. “That be where
he stay,” T said. Fear, or something,
grabbed me hard by my throat. “Give
it here.” My numb hands caressed
the nine, or was it me?
it gets kind of scary here: