Whatever it Takes

My brother dragged around his loathing like a bag of rocks —

riding buses all over the city to avoid being home,

joining sports teams – hockey, baseball, soccer —

so many games we never attended.

He would swing that heart-sized bag with both hands —

how he had no boots for his winter paper route,

how often she said, I ruined my figure for you?

all those forced dinners seated between drunk parents,

how our mother could get our father to beat us.

Sometimes, my brother took care of me —

taught me to tie my shoes at four, to skate when I was seven.

At the beach, he’d bury me in sand, sculpt a racing car

around my body — tires, headlights, a steering wheel —

I’d pretend to drive. He coached me through a bowl

of Cheerios when our father threatened to leave me

home alone if I didn’t eat solid food, I’d choked on a potato

weeks before. He said to think of something I liked

every time I swallowed — bunnies aided every spoonful.

Whatever love is, it lurked beneath us all —

my father’s smile on long drives, his random Dairy Queen

runs for Dilly Bars, my mother’s eternal belief in Christmas,

how we’d all watch The Ed Sullivan Show on our one TV set

my brother farting and laughing and laughing.

I never thought it would end, our family living together —

the knocking of a radiator kicking on, our parents asleep in their room.