[Certain]

Billy’s a whirlwind. He’s running around the grocery store
plucking boxes off shelves, lost in himself with no remorse.
He’s bright — in smile and intellect — but a bit spoiled.
His parents feel their child’s a gift to them, so they recoil
any time Billy scrapes his leg or struggles to solve
the puzzles they bought with hopes of ensuring he’d gain an edge.

Freddy’s the product of a crowded house, smothering quarters
with mom, dad, two brothers, a sister and grandmother in four rooms.
A quiet sort in public, he’s a scrapper at home.
One brother’s a boxer, so Freddy can take a tap to the dome,
which comes in handy when his dad ambles in stoned.
These are the spots when even the tots’ll glance at the phone.

Joey’s a lovable choir boy, his mother’s one pride and joy.
Pops left him in infancy, but no one could find a void
because he was adopted by all sorts of aunties in the church pews.
Joey’s defined by basketball, gap teeth and a curfew.
Teachers love his vibrant cheer and always try to steer
him to “a better path,” the kind of lines you hear when raised in silent fear.

Timmy’s the studious sort, not that he has a choice.
Cello lessons, math and Joyce — for him, these pass as toys.
The pressure’s intense. His measured success comes in letters on tests.
This was how his parents showed they loved him: stressing the best.
The best for him. The best for his future — with their vision in frame.
But when alone, Timmy wanted nothing more than video games.

Fourteen years later — Will, Fred, Joe, Tim — picture ’em all.
Which one do you envision behind prison bars?
Which one’s in college? Which one dropped out for a rhythm guitar?
Which one’s scraping out an honest living with a kid and a car?
We’re all products of our environment, the physical scars
of a threshing machine expertly designed to bring us to harvest.
Our success rates are driven by markets and traded as rapidly,
where one bad break holds the stakes to make us all casualties.
So think of these men. Did Will keep hold of his silver spoon?
Could Fred display the will to prove he isn’t his dad?
For Joe, did that grin and that laugh fade to a shriller tune?
And did Tim manage to fulfill his parents’ visions at last?
Four boys, turned four men. Picture them all, each complexion and face.
Then remember I never made even a single mention of race.








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