Kokomo turned against him
a kid in the heartland
with twice a week IVs
to stop the bleeding,
a king's curse.
Pinstriped, the anchor
broadcast the face
of the new plague.
His school picture grinned
from the screen.
Even trust in God
could not extend
hands on Sundays.
Classmates stepped aside.
Fag, Freak,
the words shimmering
in the waxed hall.
After lunch his plates,
fork, cup, carted away,
double bagged for the alley.
Cicero opened doors,
overstepped the fear,
a black cat curled on the stoop.
How many years have passed
under Indiana's sun?
Now, the corn hangs heavy.
The flags wind-tossed
in courthouse squares.
New headlines
pile up on the porches.
~Amy Unsworth