Big Brother/Little Boy
in a bed laid a little boy.
something had been wrong in his brain,
something they could not fix then and can not fix now,
growing to bring only harm.
his father was a mechanic, an architect, a contractor and a handyman.
everything that had broken would be fixed by dad, he was sure,
just like everything up to this point.
this car still had miles to go, surely, as it was so young.
the boy sat in a wheelchair, looking to his father, wondering when this would be fixed.
later, his father would give up on fixing such things.
he had done so much damage in the first place-
(though, he didn’t, really, he just failed to fix the damage he saw)
-that he continued to do damage with no desire to fix it.
so in a bed laid a little boy.
something had been wrong in his brain,
making him need all sorts of medication to be fixed.
his father was a mechanic, an artist, a craftsman and a survivor,
as he stood shouting at his son for asking for respect,
having lost one son and unaware of the likelihood of losing another.
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