He Was Boy

Standing. Young spine
curved and unstable
a hat to hide the evil
from his eyes
as he squints, looking
back toward all
that made him a child
not yet ready
to face all
that will make him a man.
A smoking gun
grasped in his left hand,
(nun's leather lashings
never hindering
this 'disgrace'),
hazy eyes turn in terror,
the shots still ringing;
their Frankenstein
patched together
like something that
could be fixed...