the boy behind the counter,
the blue eyed
boy
with a thatch of blonde
hair,
mixed up
a gallon of paint for me.
periwinkle blue,
i think it was.
today, when i go
back for another gallon
to finish the job,
they tell me that
the boy
is dead,
he went over the bridge
last night
into Oxon Hill
and took too much
of the wrong thing.
a lethal dose
of fentanyl.
i can still his
lineless face,
his unlived
life in his gentle
smile.
this will hurt for longer
than a while.
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