The hot summer sun of Atlanta beat down
The streets were lined with singing birds.
The laughter of Children, glittered the lawn
Of one Maxwell Jenkins the Third.
The shadow of Turner field lay a stone’s throw away.
And the Braves would surely beat the Mets on this happy Summer Day.
Maxwell had people over, as he usually did, cooking out on the lawn.
But playing tag, hopscotch, and horseshoes, were all his little fawns.
Maxwell was simply one of the best foster parents around.
He loved everyone he met, even working in a bad part of town.
He was never seen without at least 5 children, playing by his side.
And on this day he had custody of 15 kids, who were his joy and pride.
Hip-hop music bellowed from old speakers that were sat nearby,
And two of the children, Amira and Shruti were pretending that they could fly.
They were the youngest, and identical twins, only 7 years old.
And they had the knack of being very good, and doing all they were told.
But if separated for even an hour, these two would just be the worst.
They seemed to bring out the best in each other. But if apart, they’d be cursed.
Amira looked at Shruti, and Shruti back at her.
They ran up to Maxwell, and started to dance, and each grabbed a hand to lure-
Maxwell away from his grill, the old black man smiled and chuckled.
Maxwell: “I’m afraid if I dance too much with you ladies, my knees might bend and buckle.”
Shruti: “Come on, Mr. Max!”
Amira: “Yeah! We wanna dance!”
Maxwell: “Alright, but I move slow. I’ve never been one to prance.”
The other adults smiled as he played with the little twins.
He’d had them for nearly five years now, and he was like a father to them.
But as he did, an old black van rolled up beside his yard.
And before Maxwell could react, a bullet put him down hard.
It was only a shoulder wound, but the panic made everyone hide.
All except for Amira and Shruti who ran to his side.
But before they could get there, another shot blasted loud,
And shocked was everyone who stood in that crowd.
For in the twins’ sudden burst of motion,
The gunman realized Shruti’s life had been stolen.
Blood spurted out from Shruti’s neck violently.
And everyone stood stunned, silently.
With drops of her sister’s own blood on her face,
Amira’s eyes with tears, started to glaze.
But before she could process anything, another shot was fired.
And Maxwell’s heart was pierced, and quickly expired.
The Police were called, but the man got away.
And never was discovered.
And without her sister and Maxwell, Amira Kadru,
wouldn’t have much hope to recover.