A dead dog in the road;more precious than goldto a lonely black boythat was eight years old.Even more precious alivewas my only friend;petted, cherished, hugged and hoarded,away from all of you.We would never die.We would never be killed,but he gamboled into a streetof cracked, cruel, unclean, concrete;a snare for a pairof white boys in a carthat leered, laughed and ran him down,then circledand ran us down again,again, again, again.five times just for funfive times just for meAlmighty God, how I screamed.All my father’s beatings,could not match such shrieking.I screamed my life’s blood through my eyes.I screamed waves of my soulcrashing against the gates of heaven;screams that ripped angels from their sleep,screams that chased down God and died at his feet.The boys left us;my dog, killed in the street,and me, dead in my dog.Something empty went to my home,wearing my clothes.It pretended to be me for ten thousand years.
STUART JAMES FORREST
nbsp;My name is Stuart James Forrest and I was born in Omaha, Nebraska in 1951. I am a retired public servant living in Oceanside, California. I can be contacted by telephone at 650-245-4020 or email, firstname.lastname@example.org . In the summer of 2014, I developed a passion for creative writing while attending Stanford University Continuing Studies. I continue writing poetry, short stories and hope to develop enough skill to be a strong, creative voice of my generation of Black Americans who lived through a very tumultuous period in American history.“I command you to be happy. Now go”