" Wasting Time "
The summer of '73,
nineteen and such a fox,
played your thick moustache as you contemplated sex,
wrote I love you 100 times on a hallmark card
to a girl from Guatemala.
The summer of '76,
left the girl three months before the wedding,
informed the family that you preferred men.
Left us to console the un-tossed bouquets,
the un-smeared cake, the gown became yellow,
watched your girl turn to your replacement;
heroine.
When '80 hit,
mama and papa's house was no longer good enough.
San Francisco was the right place to be at the right time,
some record producer became your lover,
experimented with whatever was being passed round,
you pumped, pumped, steroids,
that chest stood out further,
buttocks harder, cheek bones higher.
February '92 brother died at thirty-three.
He did not let us go visit him at his death bed.
You consoled us,
told us he did not want visitors bringing flowers to his ghost.
And now.
You are imprisoned by doctor's orders.
You never wasted iota's.
Now is a good time for me to stop wasting time.
Now is a good time to tell you I love you before
I am not allowed to go visit you when it is too late.
© 2002 Didi Menendez
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