The tree- we four years olds.
A dispute arose around
A toy we found.
The little conflict turned
Serious when he ran to
His kitchen to fetch a knife,
I to mine, to grab one for me.
In the next five minutes,
We stood staring at
Each other in the street,
Ready to stab.
His mom came out in time
To bash up both.
What a waste, ruined a
Chance of me growing up
In a remand home to pick up
A little broken Spanish..
To utter 'Que pasa..' in
Marathi accent before stabbing
The final goon, in a future
Gang war.