I have to respect the boldness
of that gray-haired woman.
She packed a Magnum —
silver-barrel blazing —
and made the kids behind the counter
empty the register.
Every day, I see children
raised by their grandmothers —
the kids playing basketball along the county line,
the kids crawling up and down the train trestle.
One woman can't take care of everything
by herself.
There are people in this town
who only have twenty teeth,
who only have two-hundred in savings,
who only have enough money for
a couple of gallons of gas at a time.
I see it all the time.
Poverty was the first storm —
the drugs were the second.
Violence was the third.
I know why she did it.
I just don't understand why
no one noticed that she needed help,
attention, and a little sympathy —
more than she got and
more than she was getting.
