I was dreaming, sleepy comfort zone
Walking with my big brother
Familiar streets a memory of our time together
A sensation wisps of joy of safety of family
His smile beaming my pride worn like a badge of honor
Beaming like a light into the future
A beacon in the night guidance rough seas ahead
As a door closes another opens
And the smell of coffee rises it’s late winter
An icy chill shoots up my spine fade out scene shifts
He takes me to the Bronx Projects NYC’s 1960’s finest
Nothing more than a shit hole a junkie score heroin haven
Days change from youthful innocence to post war rejects
Post war protests and soldiers like trash blow in the wind
No home for the weary, no home for the lost
“Hell” tattooed in concrete and steel
Social conciseness spray paint graffiti a loud message
A lost cause when nothing seems relevant love and war
Staircase smells like urine and death
He takes my hand reassurance in a wink – It’ll be quick promise made
Fifth floor apartment 5D walls crumbling paint peeling garbage
Rat infested torn chair filth child down the hall cries
Window cracked sunlight splinters through while shadows lurk
Spotlighting addiction suffering the ugly truth
A warmed spoon dirty needles scattered on the floor
Dealer Dr. Kildare devil incarnate shuffles and slinks
And me I’m just baby sis a chick out of my element
Westchester planet Z obviously shell shocked void
The ride home vanishes into a lack of faith and illusions
And God sends subtitles in blood stained sleeves
He tumbles onto the couch hands shaking eyes weeping
Asking for my help salvation isn’t required or spared
Holding his belt twice wrapped around my hand I close my eyes and pray
He exhales head falls back – “It was the war sis it was the institution…
The trip from boyhood to army life no redemption no redemption
But they taught me how to be a man – Gun in one hand needle in the other
It’ll be OK – He drifts
Sis, baby, sis – It’ll be OK promise…”

My big brother nods off into a junkie high oblivion

©2020 TrilbyYates