Sunday, May 16, 2004


/stop the car/
you said and I
pulled to the side I was
driving instead of you even
though I was 12.

You told my brother to get out
get out and he said no sat still
for the first time gripped the car
seat as if his knuckles could grow

It was the red car or perhaps it was
the blue one I rolled down a hill later
that year.

Mom turned to you her face red her hair
helpless and distraught and you laughed

How could you stop?
How could any of us,

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