Tonight's Poet Corner: My Brother's Keeper
My Brother's Keeper
by Belinda Roddie
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.
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.
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.
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.
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