He died on the street outside my door Clutching his chest falling down slow Screaming for help no assistance we gave Left him dying, writhing in pain Hardened by street crime we assumed a scam A gang to come running when we stepped outside Little boys with no respect for elder or wiser Did they cause? Did we cause? The life we have to live. The boy, fourteen years and 3 months Post mortem revealed a heart broken By the fear of strangers who lock themselves in And don’t engage humanely with any ‘cept kin The pain of the mother screened close up despairing of the lack of help. I recognised her grief stricken face as the lady from the corner shop We should’ve known him twenty years or more ago we would have chatted with him daily watching him grow up we ignore the young, and we do so at our peril.