Huddled on the corner.
The four men stood in conference.
The cops' bullet proof vests black across their bare chests.
Their heads were bowed over their notebooks as they scribbled ver batim all the youth had to say.
The boys were boys.
All limbs and dumb but defensive faces.
They seemed to be calm.
Like they'd met for a picnic and were waiting for the clouds to clear before they got out the fizzy pop.
Lots of kids get to see too much of what adults have to sometimes say.
They see the ugly lears and the fighting tears.
They see pornos, do drugs and fight.
They see it all.
They know it all.
Adults don't understand the violence and nor should they.
But that is sometimes how it is today.