Jit-jotted yellow and red

Big crayon mess

Two color rainbow

Sidewalk outside my mom’s

Lays there in the afternoon

Summer sun’s a scorcher

But talk talk talk

In the morning and evening

To everyone and no one.

That jit, too old

Nobody want ‘im.

But so young

Everybody thinks somebody

Should look after ‘im.

He’s a street kid

Doing pretty fine

All things considered

Can’t get a job

Couldn’t keep it if he did

Can’t read can’t write

And can’t remember

The real name of “dad”

The real name of “mom”

But he thinks

They was nice

He’s pretty sure

They dead

I supply the crayons

Mom supplies the food

Pretty much all we can do

He is, I guess, a kind of brother

Jit and me