Hateful Son Poem by Ima Ryma

My grown son still does live with me.
He has the basement to himself.
I worry what he's come to be,
Hate on his mind, guns on his shelf.
He does not talk to me too much,
But seems excited when there is
More church and school shootings and such.
I ask, he says mind my own biz.
Each time he leaves the house I do
Feel a sense of relief he's gone,
But then I feel a real fear too
Of what he might have going on.

I know he holds hate and a gun.
What can I do? He is my son.