A friend of mine, Friends of his parents Lost their son in Tijuana. When they found him They wanted to know, Understandably, How he had died. The authorities told them They didn’t want to know. They insisted they did. The authorities insisted that They really didn’t. The parents agreed. They didn’t want to know But they needed to. The authorities sighed And told them Their son had been killed For his organs, His body picked clean Like gleaners pick a field. And they knew then that Somewhere someone Had their son’s liver, Someone his kidneys, Someone his heart, Someone his eyes. They flew down to Tijuana, Thinking they might help Find the people Who killed their son. On their last day there Before flying home, They were walking Through the open air Market when a young man Who looked nothing like Their son looked at them As if in recognition, The blue eyes brightening Like they’d seen them before. But when they got closer They began to dim. They’d been mistaken.
Mistaken
Mistaken
A friend of mine, Friends of his parents Lost their son in Tijuana. When they found him They wanted to know, Understandably, How he had died. The authorities told them They didn’t want to know. They insisted they did. The authorities insisted that They really didn’t. The parents agreed. They didn’t want to know But they needed to. The authorities sighed And told them Their son had been killed For his organs, His body picked clean Like gleaners pick a field. And they knew then that Somewhere someone Had their son’s liver, Someone his kidneys, Someone his heart, Someone his eyes. They flew down to Tijuana, Thinking they might help Find the people Who killed their son. On their last day there Before flying home, They were walking Through the open air Market when a young man Who looked nothing like Their son looked at them As if in recognition, The blue eyes brightening Like they’d seen them before. But when they got closer They began to dim. They’d been mistaken.