baby brother's blues
he was just a kid who loved to tease
our sisters and counted on me to keep
the neighborhood bullies at bay
but our stepfather did not like him as he was
right away he tightened the screws
shaved his head
slapped him around
played mind games with him
like waking him up at two in the morning
and making him shine his shoes
he was only seven or eight
the time he took him to downtown L.A.
made him get on the floor of the car
so he could not see where they were going
then he was told to sit up and before he
could ask about the tall buildings and all the people
scurrying about like ants the old man opened the door
kicked him out on the sidewalk
drove off without saying a word
years later my brother would say he had never been so scared
cried as he realized he had been dumped
on the street like an unwanted pet, until
our stepfather circled the block
laughed as he picked him up like
it was a big joke
his childhood became a thing to endure
losing a piece of himself with every blow
to his head, carrying what was left of his psyche
in the palm of his hand
like pieces of precious glass
last year i drove up to see him
surrounded by cold stone walls
and fences with razor sharp edges
men with loaded guns watched from above
as we hugged and talked
this is how i remember my baby brother
in Folsom blue
trying to fill the holes in his soul
with Camel cigarettes
and crude tattoos
published in McLife. Main Street Rag Press, 2005
