This morning, I wake with a bird in my heart.
My mother smiles only for me. I bash my car into the wall.
Sometimes she tells me to be quiet. Today, she laughs.

The men came in the hottest part of the day.
A walk, my love, a small walk, she says.
In the stairwell, the mothers hold their children.

The guns shine in the sun. I am a man,
this is no time for play, I do not hide.
We shuffle in, look for a seat in the stands.

A big black bird comes down from the sky.
 The grown-ups hold their breath. They are blinking a lot.
The bird likes the meat hanging on the goalposts.

Tonight, my mother says I can sleep in her bed.
I make my back into a curved shell against her legs.
She strokes her palm across my forehead.

In the middle of the night, I watch her on her knees.
She tips her head backwards. I see all of her neck.