Bloodwork

The blood group gene encodes a protein
expressed on the surface of the red cell.
In 2002, on a winter dawn, orange and blue, the blood group
of homeless Shannon McComb was seen expressed
on the shoes and baggy jeans of two youths
who kicked him to death, so said the crimescene.

Let’s take a step back and a gulp, zoom out this microscope.
For every 600 red there are 40 platelets and just one solitary white blood cell.
For every 600 kids at Aranui High School, deprivation dismissed to the city’s fringe, there are two kids
uninspired enough to use their shoes to crush
a waif’s skull and call themselves tough,
Bored on a flat Canterbury night, frosty crystals of July, listless,
itchin for exercise

They stomped him dead. Let’s back away from the end.
Let’s regress
to the cool, clinical lab instead.
Carbohydrate markers on the surface of a cell
Say A, B, AB, or O, and ohh, when enough blood leaks on the streets
it leads to haemorrhaging, and screams, and a grown man weeping
and cackling teens, rangy and lean and curious to see
If they could prove themselves to be
a unit of G’s by stomping a homeless dude who lived in a tent in the bushes, half-nude and skinny.

Outta Roman Candles, bored on a chilly crimson dawn
Pakanui Morrice and Kevin Green etched a message,
left shoeprints on his head
back and back again to blood-blister-blacken
the bum’s face and back, THWACK, the fence paling snaps
A sloppy kiddy two-on-one micro-gang attack.

Damn, dawg! Your mugs made the front page of The Press!
Only 17 and you stomped a dude to death!
Your vague vacated faces in the dock indicate you’d rather watch
your condemnation on the box.

Surely in the interview room
the pigshits drove it in, spittin like your stepdad yellin
told what happened with the dead kid’s coffin?
How the lid was closed, so busted
was his skin, bludgeoned, ruptured.
closed casket. Mum couldn’t look at him.

I picture yous in Paparua Prison, so so badass, the ultimate detention
shivering, giddy with exhilaration.
D’you get the bash from famous Bailey Kurariki?
Did the infamy give you a stiffy?
I had schoolmates who may’ve taken your lunch-line place
maybe raised their tray to break your face
made you cry and bite your fists like wee 45kg Shannon did.

Don’t whimper! Don’t bicker or rat on each other! Chin up, Cuz.
Expect a Bloods ambassador to endorse your course soon, boy, some envoy representin Raymond Washington, straight outta Compton
with a medal to make your make-believe Bloods brotherhood official, to issue your hoodrat asses red threads, to kiss your behinds,
to recognise two astute new recruits, reliable guys.

I’m trying to revive Shannon McComb, lost his life at 29
But all the limelight lies with two gunless G’s
Whose pocket knife in the victim’s guts broke off,
Childish blade, kiddy-safe tiny as a Weetbix prize. You guys
ambled home at dawn, chucked Spongebob on,
complained about the bloodstains on your jeans. Culprit Green
wished he had a dad with Napisan to show him how to put the washing on.
and Pakanui agonised what to spend the loot on:
Spacemen candy sticks or KaBlooey bubblegum.