The Cancer Had Him

seeing demons
and I leaned over
his delirium
They were real things
to him
and me
whether morphine dreams
or other
My older brother
in sheer terror
A man made a wraith
by cancer
Trimmed to the weight
of a petite ballet dancer
on a six foot two frame
I carried him to
another room
and the demons –
they came too
There was nothing
I could do
so I prayed
Hey God,
take me
There’s blood on my hands
The dirty work of Uncle Sam
But whatever god there be
The I Am
by whatever name
didn’t see things the same
as me
and my brother was gone
within a week
These are the things that
inform the dramatic scenes
of this play
we call life