This photo is bent back,

hello Brother,

he's still smiling here.

We are sitting on the hood

of the old

blue

Impala,

his hair looks golden,

his skin soft and tan.

That summer,

Mom had a breakdown,

That summer,

Dad made my brother

look after her,

until she was committed.

She must have

shook

him

hard,

his faults

burst

open

letting the addict

out.

As I watched him

stumble

I never noticed

he sold me his

virtues

like pieces of his soul.

He could really play baseball then.

My best friend,

my twelve year old

big brother.

In that shirt

he was an Angel,

that's the last year he won.

Now, his demons

look down on him.

Did I steal his life,

quietly learning from each mistake?

Or did he crucify himself

to save his

clumsy,

little

brother?