Who Knows When!
I started writing poems
When my dad told me
His friend at work
Retired, had a party
Announced he was now
Finally writing his book of poems
What he long awaited to dedicate his time, to
Out of nowhere
He was murdered
By a guy he had hired
To maintain one of his properties
That he rented out as a landlord.
He was a first generation Indian immigrant
A brilliant engineer who my hard-nosed dad respected
And he was murdered
By the white guy who mowed the lawn.
I realized then–
If you want to write poems
Fucking write them
Before you retire, cuz who knows
When some white supremacist
Will decide to kill you