little boys in fubu gear

Little boys in Fubu gear,
I-Pod shared from ear to ear,
they stare at him plea for change
seeking reverence on our train.
His matted hair all affray,
boys I warn you please behave.
The smaller ones eyes are glued,
most the riders shift their snooze,
as the mangled twists and spits
scolding us at fingertips.
The bigger boy shows no fright
and slides the Pod out of sight.
His mom approves in a nod
for very well he’s been taught.
“A few coins,” the vagrant cries.
Three fashioned girls roll their eyes.
Our destitute shakes his fist,
his candor with no remiss.
“I do say you’re all ashamed
for my state you’re ones to blame!”
The smaller boy stirs in seat,
his brother keeps eyes on feet.
But this lad won’t look away,
even if the rest do sway.
Little boy, locked in eyes,
break away, the train arrives!
Louder voices flood the train,
the hungry man must refrain.
Pushed aside, they fight for seat,
rattled shoppers force defeat.
They are too much to contend,
at next car, he’ll start again.
Eyes a wide the boy can look,
and see the man solely took
a bit of solace in our day
reminding us to behave.