Droplets of sweat glistening
and running down his face
forehead to chin, rivulets
becoming tears, choking
back wracking sobs as
he said simply, I should
have told you Wayne died
three weeks ago
Half asleep, dragging two cans
of garbage in my bamboo pajamas
I instinctively wrapped my arms
around my hulk of a neighbor
as he wept from so deep inside
unleashing a lifetime of unshed sorrow
for an older brother whom he said
had always been a troubled soul
The road, houses, cars disappeared
as he asked me what he should do
but before an answer even formed
he pulled away, wiped his face
saying the bigger stuff could be
put at the curb but his brother
had this collection of rubber bands
sorted by length in old jars
There must be millions and
I can still see his cigarette stained
fingertips touching each one like prayer
beads to a God he no longer believed in
What do I do with blue, green, red, tan
and purple rubber bands that
my brother treasured for reasons
I never took the time to ask
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