You Lucky

The mom drags the little boy
by his shirt at the shoulder she
grasps a black leather belt
looped

ready to inflict

“Get cho ass in the house
boy
You lucky I didn’t push yo
mutha-fuckin’ ass out in
front of traffic.”

In the house
the tender flesh and
the tender heart

bruise and bleed

The hours
days
months
years
slowly pass by

Calluses form and become hard as
stone protecting the still-tender
heart that beats inside

and lives.