HE NEVER REALLY TALKED ABOUT IT,
I said.
Shawn just said
you were shot
and that he knew who did it,
I explained,
remembering that time.
Shawn’s face a candle,
melted wax, flame flickering out.
I remember the cops
banging on our door to question him,
to tell him they heard he was close to James—
that was the one time I heard Buck’s real name—
and to ask him if he knew who might’ve
done it,
killed him,
shot him twice
in the stomach,
in the street.