Chicago Bull
When my baby was 350 degrees in the depths of my stove
I knew life wouldn't be no easy bake oven for him.
I got the tiger-clawed stretch marks to prove it.
Can't no cocoa butter fade fate away.
He came out feet first. Nearly a breached birth.
His hands twisted amongst the giant octopus of umbilical cord.
I prayed him out of me. Gave birth in bowing position.

Mute the organ chords. I'm talking about my only son.

I mixed gun powder with his Gerber mushed carrots
to help him tolerate the taste of bullets for the Englewood wilderness
he would bequeath later on.

I didn't want this funeral, you know.
Don't want condolences or bereavement bouquets.
Don't want to remember him like this.
God told me to have it.
I saw it all in a mosoleum dream.
Said to piece what was left of his face together
and open the casket.
Only those that have lost a son
can inhale this smelling salt pain.
I have to sit here and hear
the preacher talk about how it will
all be better tomorrow.
All due respect, Reverend, but forget tomorrow.
Tomorrow won't
bring my baby back,
won't grow hands and wipe my tears away,
won't massage my shoulder
help me clean my son's room after
all the family has cleared out the house,
hollowed from their "that's a shame's"
and "let us know if you need anything's".
Tomorrow is a house built of straw
and today is huffing and puffing me down.

Everyone from 13 to 24 stand up.
Any one of you could be him.
Hemmed up in this wooden box.

I heard they were coming to shoot the funeral up.
Tell the gang that's retaliating to make true on their threats
and crash this sanctuary that has already been defiled.
None of that nut-grabbing, machissmo stage play
with pants melted to the linoleum floor. Waste no time.
Let the youngest one with the deadliest weapon come right in and shoot me first.
I'm the one they want
The one they killed came from my womb.
My stove with rusted coils
and sanguine tone.
Unplug me and put me on the street
for some other family to use
because my baby is gone, and goodbye
has never felt so bad.