Balcony Prayer

[Verse 1]
Dear Tope, age twenty-three, from your sister in October,
Saw you by the Costcutter, chin up but your shoulders slumped over.
Got that same look as Dad when the last of the egunje was gone,
The look that says the foundation's concrete but the architect was wrong.
They're training you like a climbing rose on a wall that's set to fall,
Giving you water from a poisoned cup, then waiting for your call.
Heard you're running with the gannets from the block on Camberwell New Road,
Felt the cold off your new jacket, that's a debt that's being owed.

[Chorus]
This is the prayer I won't ever say at church,
I just watch the buddleia seeds find purchase in the dirt.
This is the unsent draft, the word stuck in my throat,
The life vest that I'm weaving for a ship that's yet to float.

[Verse 2]
Saw the notification flash up, 'Tope tagged in a new story,'
It was 3 AM, just phone glare and borrowed glory.
The scent of Lynx Africa and cheap vodka on a North Face coat,
A chain thick as a bike lock, a laugh that sounded broke.
Heard them say, "You're one of us now," and they handed you the Peli case,
A hollow kind of echo in this cantilevered space.
I'm charting out your future like a map of invasive weeds,
From a single stray seed to a garden choked by deeds.

[Chorus]
This is the prayer I won't ever say at church,
I just watch the buddleia seeds find purchase in the dirt.
This is the unsent draft, the word stuck in my throat,
The life vest that I'm weaving for a ship that's yet to float.

[Verse 3]
(Double-time)
Look, I'm trying to see you at graduation, not a headline on the Metro,
Trying to see your name on a lease, not a tag sprayed in a ghetto,
Trying to see you build a future, not just serving for a postcode,
Trying to un-sow the poison 'fore the poison gets bestowed.
I seen the best minds of my block get lost inside a packed-out prison visit,
Is it loyalty or fear? You gotta ask yourself, what is it?
'Cause the concrete takes it all in the end, it don't remember any names,
Just the chalk outlines and whispers fanning up the little flames.

[Outro]
Dear Tope, age thirteen.
Pick up the phone. Please.