carry the weight

he comes home
from school
with his heavy
tye-dyed backpack
draped across skinny shoulders
walking with that slow
sixth grade swagger
carrying that slow
stocky sixth grade
baby weight
with the Weight of a
world on his shoulders
if
the world was a dumpster
behind a dirty McDonalds
with a thousand leftover
Big Macs and
a thousand extra large fries
with a thousand barrels
of fry grease
poured on top
and lit on fire

like the world was the last herd of
elephants
being poached by a herd of
narcissists
like the world was an Amazon forest
set ablaze

he holds that Weight like
he's seen
babies shot in kindergartens
by military grade weaponry
bodies torn to shreds
by bullets made for buildings
made for death
like he's used his sixth grade body…