Poetry from Karen D’Antona

Talkin’ to my Son

 

Talkin’ to my son today, he all weird’d me out/

When we was done, I didn’t know if I should cry, scream, or shout/

 

He’s says he wants to move to Brooklyn, with no job or plan/

But he needs a car, ‘cause he’s a young man/

 

I says how much does an apartment cost/

He say two thousand grand/

 

He’s only fourteen/

God, how do I make him understand/

 

You don’t move to Brooklyn/

With no job or plan/

 

He’s only fourteen/

God, please give me a plan/

 

A fourteen year old/

Is not yet a young man/

 

Now don’t get me wrong/

It’s not what you think/

 

I want you to follow your dreams son/

Do what you think/

 

But son, if you make one wrong move/

It could be over in a blink/

 

I thought writin’ rap would be fun/

But this really stinks/

 

It’s four a clock in the morning/

He’s restin’ in bed/

 

I am sitttin’ at this computer/

Bangin’ my head/

 

At least I know he’s safe right now/

God, please look over him/

 

He’s only fourteen/

Not yet a young man/