Colten Boushie's life ended at twenty two.
I never met him but his existence met me.
Interrupted my perceptions about people.
About my people who clean their houses.
Wash their clothes. Read books.
Listen to the news.
My people who have a lot to say about right and wrong.
People who have clean tap water and cheap food.
Who had three meals a day and a clean classroom
to go to in their formative years.
Who watch TV dramas about Queen Victoria.
Her marbled halls and floors. Her servants.
Their extravagant clothes and hats.
My people who grew up in the age of hope.
Who benefitted from that deep well
of social contracts, a society where
we armed ourselves with opinions
mostly kept to ourselves
keeping the streets free of our tempers
that we have now lost.
A privilege to get over because the stealing
was done before we came and it was much more
than a wheel or a tire. It's time to give back
to the young faces and young hearts
something to live for.