My little brother sits smiling
on a curb next to his best friend,
innocent and cute as a soft kitten
or a red kite alight
on a breezy hot afternoon..
Suddenly, he is a wild cat
with killer claws flung,
corncob teeth plunged
into Ricky’s bare abdomen,
this shocking attack a biting response
to a girl named Becky invited inside
their tight corner,
this intimate world of blood brothers.
Warm blood flowed that day
from a boy’s pink belly.
The friendship would not be
the same. Too late to control
his impulse, showing no restraint,
indelible crimson stains
scarred both the bitten
and the biter
in that sad assault.
To this day, when my brother walks
in the room (even if just to greet),
I may flinch and brace
for a potential animal attack.
I remember how the cat might yowl,
shriek, spit and tear innocent flesh.
The desperate bedlam
of violence collapsed
into chaos of flying fur tuft,
acidic fear and oh so lonely
deep abandoned howls
again ensues,
again.
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