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.

  • 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.