"I KNOW WHERE"

“I’m not doing well at school
But I know where my knife is
I don’t care where my workbooks are
But I know where to buy a gun
I don’t want to cook or wash dishes
But I know where to score a draw
I didn’t know I could take a life
Until at my feet someone lies dead on the floor.”

Mum sits at the dining table
Worried and wringing her hands and thinking
“What has happened to my child?”
This isn’t how I brought them up to be
The rudeness, the lack of care and disrespect
I can’t blame their father who’s not even here
If he was, it would make no difference I expect.
It’s midnight and my child is not even home yet
Today he wasn’t even at school
He no longer thinks homework is important
He no longer thinks education is something cool
Instead all he wants is to run on the streets
He wants to act like he’s mean with his mates
When I tell him to do something like clean
All he replies is ‘Yeah… whatever Ma… seen!’
I think, yes solutions can be suggested and plans probably implemented…
But really identifying the root cause of the problem isn’t so easy
Then the phone rings, stops was it the cops calling
To say my son’s dead?… I feel suddenly sick and queasy
I’m at my wits end I don’t know what to do
I’m sure there are other families out there
Who are experiencing the same problems too.
Then I hear keys in the door,
It’s quarter to two in the morning
In comes my son, I grab him... shake him...
Shouting “Where have you been?!!!”
He says “I’m okay... it’s not mine…”
And then I see he’s covered in blood… but whose blood?
He falls into my arms shell shocked, pale as a sheet,
His words they stumble, then out come his tears in a flood.
“Mum, we were outside a party, just standing around chilling
This car drove by… they shouted at us…
Shot at us… they missed
Some of us chased them down in another car…
We caught them when their ride stalled… Then came the fighting…
He’s dead Ma… my friend, my blud! Then the screaming…
I stabbed one of them… I think I killed him too…!”
Quietly he asked me, “Mum, am I dreaming?”

This is my waking nightmare
Every time I visit my son at Her Majesty’s Pleasure
When I come home and sit where I sat five years ago
I re-live it like it’s happening right now
The rollercoaster of emotions that rise up and down in me
The sense of guilt and helplessness I feel
Is beyond expression
I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through
What I’ve been through… go through
What my son has to go through behind bars
To share this is my message and my warning
To stop other teens walking my son’s path
Everyone should know guns and knives don’t kill people
But they need to acknowledge the fact
That their wielders do… other people…
Other children… do take lives
Over stupid insignificant spur of the moment crap
Like treading on territorial toes
Or acting on gossip that someone else
Told someone supposedly in the know.
But the thing that stays with me the most
Wrenching my soul and ripping my heart apart
Is having to leave him in that place until he’s as old as me
Hearing the clang as doors shut behind me
His eyes red, filled with tears and his voice echoing… broken…
“Mum, I’m so sorry, I should have listened….”

©28th January 2008 Written By Angela Edgar
www.cinnamonandsin.com All Rights Reserved.
Unauthorised Reproduction Prohibited.