Brooklyn,

Class is out,

It’s summertime,

On the platform,

Jumped,

Three young teens against one,

Helpless,

I can’t bear to see,

But here and feel the pain,

A wooden bench nailed to the ground,

Overturns and breaks,

Passengers pour out of my subway car screaming for help,

Repeatedly stabbed with the tip of an umbrella,

Kicked and beaten to a pulp,

The three try to throw him onto the tracks,

But he holds on,

People surround and yell “stop!”

But no one steps in,

Our conductor calls for a red signal on the track

And radio’s for police,

Who never come,

The attack stops,

The three run,

Our train leaves the station,

All of us shaken by viciousness,

Teenage girls recount stories of being jumped and nervously giggle about legs that won’t stop shaking,

Women’s eyes grow red and glazed as they say “that’s someone’s baby,”

While men shake their heads,

All of this because he snitched,

Spoke the truth,

War?

Our kids are fighting for their lives,

Everyday.

Right here,

Right now.