Tonight's Poet Corner: My Brother's Keeper

My Brother's Keeper

by Belinda Roddie

There's a puddle of chocolate where

my brother dropped his ice cream after 

he tripped over his own shoelaces. It wasn't

his fault - he's big and heavy and a bit

clumsy, and it didn't help that
the neighborhood bully, twice his age,
pushed him toward the pavement.

I saw the guy do it, with my own eyes.

He ran off cackling down the street,

while my brother sniffled and swiped

at his eyes and nose so I couldn't see

them get wet. He knows I'll get angry

and vengeful if he cries. But it's already

too late. I'm seeing double in my rage.

The melted dairy confection leaves 

the soles of my old sneakers

sticky, and I track the bastard who

attacked my brother down 

to the closest public bathroom, where 

the n-word is sprayed on every corner

of the eroded tile walls. Like some kind of

broken anthem for some form of societal

oppression. I don't know.

The jerk's alarmed that I'm watching him 

relieve himself, all white and bulging blue eyes.

But that's before I slam his head down,

hard, against the protruding top slab of

the urinal. The graying porcelain instantly 

turns red, and his nose turns purple, three 

different shades of it. Before he can start
screaming, I'm gone.

No one picks on my brother. Not

the friendly giant, the gentle titan,

the happy colossus. I've taken care of him 

since he had to leave school. Seven years ago, 

in the sixth grade, he just couldn't learn 

anything new anymore. Again,
not his fault.

I grab a Choco Taco from the gas station

before I trek back to the apartment. My

brother has Superman band-aids all over

his kneecaps, as he sips a soda and

watches reruns of Spongebob. When I

sit down beside him and offer him the

sugary treat, he smiles his typical

buck-toothed smile above his unruly

field of stubble, tearing away

the wrapper like paper from gold and

chomping while the phone rings.