Sweet Boy took 
one in the chest.
Miraculous moment,
he did not die there;
instead he walked
across the street to 
do it. That’s where they
found him looking up
at the stars, eyes fixed
on the zenith.

Sweet Boy,
sang the heavens, welcome
to you. Welcome to you
from the world of difficulty
and miracles that should not
be needed. 

Another boy,
not so sweet, not so 
boyish, falls in another
street, this time cut;
he passes at once.
Rough Boy, miracle of 
miracles, rises up from the blood
on a song like
Sweet Boy’s song,

though it’s daylight 
and he’s not going to be
as missed as Sweet Boy and
it’s a different world more in need
of miracles than the first

so the song shifts in key
but they name him Sweet Boy too
because that’s a name
heaven can sing for dead boys;

and Sweet Girl dies in song,
and Sweet Man, and Sweet Woman,
and Sweeties 
who refuse the other songs
until they get their own
just as sweet as those;

miraculous songs, songs 
for the dead that do not
choose or blame, that only 
welcome and lament,
that offer sweetness to 
this bitter world.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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