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Matthew Killed Somebody: A Murder in North Hampton Massachusetts For Matthew Santoni Matthew, Matthew, what did you do? Sweet Boy of North Hampton With your face painted with fear, Your palms of salty laced lakes, Switch blade blood swimming in your eyes? Speak to me. Tell me about the sweaty nightmares Of The Homies, The Hicks bred- from Farm Houses of skinhead Fathers Mothers in Ghettos. Bullets from Bullies under Silver Slides, and Monkey Bars. Scorch my ears with your secrets I am ready with you holding a baseball bat. Arms cradle bricks in the rear of a school bus I am with you through the hallway crowds of Mechanical Boys calling you Faggot in a Train of Ridicule. I am with you through Pleasant Street panhandling for cigarettes and beer money Skin is skinned. Body shift, to shades of black and blue from Fists of Smith Vocational: A school that works. Let your anger trickle down the Backbone of Teachers who believes Homosexuality is wrong, who prefers not to hear about it. The ones you scream to in journals of poetry. He deserves what he gets. Father lost his job with the Veteran's Association. Mother put food on the table with what little she had as a license cosmetologist. Where is Sarah in her granny dresses, torn fishnets? who was your girlfriend for almost a year? The one you went crying to as Dionysus in make-up? The girl who escorted you around buildings, away from Hostile young men? Sarah who I made my whole life. You are the only thing I've got left. Sarah who spent a whole year trying to protect the boy she loved, the boy everyone despised. Where are the Police to serve and protect? Who crack your skull with night sticks. The people of North Hampton mourn the death of Jeffery LaMothe, 16 years old who never left you alone. Who never believed you was Bisexual. No one mourns you Matthew. No one brings you flowers. No one writes you handwritten prayers on notebook paper. No one grips you with teddy bear hugs. No one drenches Kleenex with Massachusetts sorrow. What happened that night as- you sat on the post office porch in your wraparound shades, in your knee-length shorts, in your golden blond hair eating pizza? When Jeffrey, dead at 16, drove you to thrust a kitchen knife in his chest? Matthew, Matthew, speak to me from the Central Housing Unit of Plymouth County Correctional Facility Let us join hands with your lawyer. Sarah, your North Hampton heroine Your Cosmo mother, the father who dismisses you, Toni, your drama teacher who is still mad at you for fucking up. Who thought he knew you. Who never knew what was really going on. Hey Matthew, you want to shoot some pool; rent a couple of Michael J. Fox movies? I can cook us some fried bologna sandwiches. Help you forget what happened over Chinese Checkers, a game of Monopoly Stay where you are Matthew. I'll be right there.
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