In the Mood for the Hood

by Enzo Tacadao

He shot him down.
To the ground he said,
‘don’t shoot me down’ he said.

A punch to face,
a punch to the face.
Boom. No shakalaka, just boom.

Frightened  voice.
Dead boy.
Blackened vision,
young black boy.

He did not belong to the hood,
he’s up to no good, he said.
He shot him down,
just in the mood for his hood.

Black attack,
gun snack,
and a racist fuck.

 

by Enzo Tacadao / Lorenzo Tacadao

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