For Bre

9:47am, Lenox Avenue.
Like a prisoner, he was dragged down the street
Coat askew, his tiny arms waving madly,
Surrounded by eyes pretending not to notice, except one pair,
That could not stop.

She watched his small body
Screaming
Being dragged through the street, like a prisoner.
After they investigate, the police tell her 
The boy was bad at school, was punished for it.

Like a thing, he was carried down the street,
By his older brother, who mistook the boy’s head
For a basketball, bouncing the brown ball against the wall of a bodega,
Several times.

Surrounded by eyes of the old, the ones who didn’t want to
Get involved, the eyes of other children, who felt
The bounce thunder in their small, brown heads,
Small.

When that pair of eyes went to the police,
She was told that the boy was in trouble (again) at school.
That his brother had disciplined him.

They found the wet, dirty basketball,
Under the bed, cornered.

11:57am, Lenox Avenue.
Not a basketball in sight.