A Mother’s Superstition
(An Ode to Clifford Ware)
It was a Friday after school
You were at your friend’s house
Sixteen-year-old boys playing
With a grown man’s toy
“It was empty!” he cried out
To police, the world and then
Your mother
It was on a thirteenth,
Oh so many long years ago
I wasn’t superstitious then
And am not now, although
I suppose your mother is
Or at least she is now
And when that number comes
On what is typically
A good weekday you can’t help
But appear in memories,
Whether it is spring, winter
Summer or fall
~~~~~
Yes this is based on an actual event on an actual Friday the 13th. Please teach your children that guns are ALWAYS to be handled as if they are loaded.
5 comments:
ugh. you know he sill be scarred for life..just makes me shiver...
Just posted a comment in full agreement with your post, Paige. However, Blogger must still be having issues with comments cause it was unable to be processed for some reason or other.
Very moving and sad poem, Paige. I'm of the opinion that no one should have any guns at all, but that is just me. Tragedies like this are all too common.
I just hate it when some child gets their hands on a gun and innocently shoots another. I can't for the life of me figure out what the parents were thinking.
Great advice Paige. Here's hoping the loonies who need to read it come by.
guess i should edit my poem a bit...Cliford died
Rest In Peace
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