One of my childhood
Best friends, who I had
Not spoken to in years,
Who also became a man
In the interim since
I knew him and,
On top of that,
A father, was shot
Outside a bar
Called the Cedar Inn,
Up the highway from
The old farm,
One of those
Midwestern taverns
You might mistake for
A house were it not
For the windows
Festooned in neon.
Taco Tuesdays.
Big Buck Hunter.
Pool tables, the felt
Worn down where
People break.
The kid who killed
Shaun killed him
Over some Facebook beef.
In another age,
His rage would have
Ended at his fists,
But we’ve extended
Ourselves now with guns,
Bare winter branches
From which leaves
Of fire burst and fall
Out of season.
Shaun just happened
To be in the way.
Kyle Tucker died too.
Mike Steinhauser, a kid
I hid from the cops
In the woods with
One night at a kegger,
And who threatened
To kill me if I told
Anyone, lived.
The kid who did
The shooting
Is in prison in southern
Illinois. I don’t remember
His name. I remember
Shaun Bradbury,
Who hit so hard
You saw stars in the day,
Whose facemask
Was always thick
With sod, who caught
A Hail Mary
That made everyone,
Even the band nerds
Who claimed not to care
Who won,
Rush the field.
Wow! Great poem!