A Statistic Of The Gun Poem by Francis Duggan

the word was he was evil and some evil things he'd done
And amongst the like minded some respect he had won
From his late teens a criminal and he lived on the run
And he had committed armed robberies and he lived and died by the gun.

In his early teens rendered homeless his mum and dad in jail
A street kid of the ghetto was he not doomed to fail?
And like every one he too had a life story but he could only tell
Of life in the slum suburbs where it is worse than hell.

He had lost his innocence at a young age of him that can be said
And he died in a dingy laneway with a bullet in his head
But anyway you look at it his death was of foul play
And he did not deserve to die in such a horrid way.

Only in his early twenties seems so young for one to die
And a decade back or even less he was still a school going boy
And he died in the ghetto a statistic of the gun
And the foulest act of all acts robbed the mother of her son.