A Perfect Anger

[Verse 1]
The Shem Creek pier hums a cicada drone.
A Tuesday in July, just after three.
Leo’s knuckles are bone-white on the scaling knife,
flicking silver light onto the porch screen.
He’s ten years old forever in the heat,
the redfish eye a dead black pearl of brine.

[Chorus]
(Female vocalist enters, powerful and clear)
They can’t have this hour
No, they can’t have this light

[Verse 2]
Little brother watches, barefoot on the cypress boards,
counts the metallic ticks against the mesh.
“Watch close now,” he says, “gotta get under the armor.”
His hands, already calloused, move so fresh.
The air is thick with salt and coming rain,
a holy kind of stillness holds the street.

[Chorus]
(Female vocalist)
They can’t have this hour
No, they can’t have this light

[Bridge]
The smell of pluff mud starts to fade from the grain.
A ghost of thunder whispers out on the tide.
My hands remember how to hold the stain,
but not the solid shoulder by my side.

[Outro]
(Music dissolves)
Under the armor…
This light…