Santino Poem by Butch Decatoria

It would be rude to
Ask his mother (running to market for syringes)
Ask if he was crooked coming out
A broken bambino, was he?

Haunched Santino and his mother
From their makeshift hut of crates
And unwanted soiled baby blankets
Stab themselves between the toes,

While the Asians pass through
In their Lexus's and glittering Samsungs
As indifferent as the heroine
That Santino and his mother share
(Veins like fingers rivers lightning)

She's sensitive about some things,
Watch what you say...
It seems like love, a son and his enabler
Or vice verses all the world
Their rotten oyster.

I dare not ask his mother
Which came first
(The chicken or the egg?)
Was he a crack baby, her good boy, Santino...
Or was she?

"Watch your mouth! "/ She's yelling
At foodies parking their cars
With her eyes closed, walking about, lost lots…

He's a good kid, forever her bambino.
I now understand selfishness,
How deformed came the world to Santino...