He was the guy at work who could fix anything,
but he couldn’t fix himself. We found him crying
and belligerent in The Towne Tavern only days
after his brother passed from a heroin overdose.
Your weakness is what’s going to kill you, he said
as we drove him to the brick row house apartments.
He insisted I come in to see his new guitar, to hear
a song he’d learned. Hendrix and Santana posters
covered the walls and with each riff, tears rolled down
his cheek, a neighbor’s dog barked, his mother yelled.
After that summer, he almost got clean and sober.
Now twenty five years later, I came across his picture
in the paper, he’s on the run, evasion of child support.
Secretly, I pray he gets far away, I wonder if he's got his
guitar with him and hope one day he finds a way to kick it.