Brother
He walks with
his leather jacket slumped over
his shoulders
and his violet backpack
swinging violently
from
his shoulders.
His mouth is
a motor,
with constant rap lyrics flowing
from
his lips.
He walks up to my car:
And pulls
the handle;
its locked.
His red, blue eyes stare through
the dirty pane.
Please, open. Help me.
I move my hand to help him
He's high again.
He's depressed again.
He's lonely again.
He's high again.
My brother--pretending he's
too cool
to care
.
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