For Sammy Yatim, Murdered

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I thought he would take the little knife

The father of two said 

And walk through a rain of bullets and scratch my face possibly worse

For example, nick me

The officer perjured

I never wanted to kill anybody, he said, but he did

“Smells like Axe,” the stenographer observed of

Forcillo, the married policeman with a trim beard and good physique

You take your life in your hands every day one hero

One cop said

He may have gotten away with calling me a “pussy”!

The elegant superhero told the rapt jurors

The other officers nodded and lowered their heads at this chilling thought

Sammy Yatim’s family cried, he was a boy who made a mistake on drugs 

A scary mistake

All he could do was tough it out all they could do was tear off his spine and 

Pour electricity into his dead body to watch it jump then

Stand around, not much to do, a mild night and stars out early           

Dead stars lying about what they mean when they shine

Flowers, every week, where the young man died

Bending then falling over 

I didn’t mean it, he tells his mother in a stream of blood,

She knows, she knows.

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