I see roses and wreaths and ribbons every few blocks

tied to the poles of street signs

new life born on the metal where a kid

once got his head smashed in

by a car or a bike or God forbid another man

But God doesn’t forbid he allows

I’ve always wondered if I would get a wreath

tied around the rope I decorated my ceiling with

like a mistletoe on a cold October morning

An unpleasant surprise for the mother I left behind

God doesn’t forbid he allows

and if they put roses and wreaths on every spot 

where a man unjustly forfeited his life 

this concrete forest would be a colorful jungle

full of real life and beauty not unlike

what we destroyed inside us to get here.