My Brother's Death (Poem)

My Brother's Death

It wasn't the beer or the wine.
It was the dope, the weird combos,
You know, that did my brother in.
He died in the back of a dealer's car
Holding a ham sandwich, sandwiched
Between two druggies.
Scared, they rolled him out, left him
Outside the ER entrance,
And sped away hungry into the night.

Three days in the morgue
Before he was identified
And called a name other than
“corpse, dead man, druggie”
My baby brother with tufts of yellow hair
Bright like dandelions,
And eyes the color of green tea.

Did they rub olive oils on his hands and dry cheeks?
Did they give him a Dr. Pepper, his drink of choice?
Did they know he loved the Beatles and Peanut Butter?
What did they know.

No meat on his bones when he died.
They called me in Wisconsin.
My husband wanted more mustard
For his bratwurst.

A week before he'd called me
From a payphone in DC, thunder crashing around him.
Static on the line. “I'm in a phone booth. It's raining hard.”
“Are you all right? What can I do? Do you want to come here?”
“I'm fine. I'm fine. Take care of those little boys.”

Rolled out of the car onto the pavement
Like a pickle, pickled.
Three days later I got the call.
My husband wanted more mustard
For his bratwurst.
We were in Wisconsin.
I wanted a Dr. Pepper. There was coca cola only,
So I drank it until I burped.