I miss my brother sure he drank Robitussin washed down with beer sure he smoked dope & shot heroin & went to prison for selling to an undercover cop & sure he robbed the town’s only hot dog stand, Gino’s like I overheard while I laid on my bed staring up at the stars under slanted curtains & sure he used to leave his two year old son alone so he could score on the street but before all this my brother sure used to swing me up onto his back, run me around dizzy through hallways and rooms & we’d laugh & laugh fall onto the bed finally and he’d tickle me to death sure
—Arlene Tribbia
Rights & Access
From Margie/The American Journal of Poetry
Volume 2, 2004
Copyright 2004 Arlene Tribbia.
All rights reserved.
Reprinted by permission of Arlene Tribbia. Copyright 2004 by Arlene Tribbia. For further permissions information, contact Arlene Tribbia, user185274@aol.com.
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Arlene Tribbia
Arlene Tribbia is a Chicago-based author and artist. Her short stories and poems have appeared in a number of literary magazines in both the United States and Canada as well as online.