Chino

Chino By Edmund Siejka (from East Of Seventh, Local Gems Press publisher. Available on Amazon) Waiting near a candy store For something to happen Chino pretended to be his idol The 1950’s celluloid rebel Marlon Brando. While the film actor made thousands The working class rebel of Second Avenue Lived on cigarettes And Coca Cola. Chino wore a uniform Black leather jacket Dungarees Black engineer boots Hair combed in a long pompadour Duck tail back With enough grease To lubricate a truck And a faint hint of sideburns. In real life The boy’s name Was Stefan Benedik A crazy kid Who wanted to be more American Than the Americans Where he lived No one was quite sure But everyone knew him By his street name Chino. Dropping out of high school Chino had no money Defiant and bold He was considered A troublemaker. A few nights before Christmas Loud voices were heard coming from a nearby bar “Get him” someone yelled Chino jumped out of a ’49 Buick Roadmaster That wasn’t his The sound of running footsteps Were heard His body hitting the hard concrete Struggling to get up Someone grabbed him by the hair Pushing his head back Another voice called him a car thief Fists followed and the kicks came Someone’s hand was seen in the night going up And coming down in a hurtful arc The young rebel was left where he fell on the sidewalk. Unexpectedly, it snowed that night Whiteness gracefully falling from the sky Showing no preference for the young or the old The brave or the foolish Covering everything In a powdery blanket That muffled the sounds of the city And made the ugly and mundane Look perfect and unspoiled. In its own way Nature took pity On the lifeless boy And draped his body in a white shroud Of feathery snow Protecting him from the curious And all trespassers. When the police came There was a crowd Jostling for a better view Of what they could not see. Holding her coat against the cold Chino’s mother pointed a finger at the crowd “It wasn’t you or you. It was all of you who killed my son.” There was no sound No smart answers Only an empty feeling From the aimless onlookers. Huddled under an iron gray sky. A policeman, Lines edging his tired face, Stood unyielding A club firmly held in his hand Ordering the crowd to leave Soon the street was as empty and quiet as before. Only a few realized that The fragile cord of life For a misunderstood boy Had been violently ended During the season of forgiveness.