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/

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