—I DON’T WEAR THE SHOES I USED TO WALK IN

 

 

Friends and Enemies

 

     At the VA my brother is a kind of king everyone calling Charlie! when we arrive and hearing his name on others’ lips always reminds me of how the US soldiers nicknamed the Viet Cong Charlie and though I’ve never asked my brother about it I wonder how often it hits him the similarity and difference of friends and enemies.

     The bartender has his drinks ready Jack and beer-chaser while I’ve learned to keep up by being as stupid as possible which is why nothing burns anymore not the shame of being book smart rich and the only brother who skipped military service.

     He will die four years from now though I don’t know it yet which is why when he tells me Trump is going to stop “them” from poisoning the country’s blood I’ve had enough slam a bill on the counter and wander out piping hot.

     I don’t know his town so I walk like a wayward wind past blocks and blocks of stores stuffed inside strip malls each one hawking wares with loud garish signage as if they’re selling heart pills or giving away salvation two things I will desperately need three years from now one I will accept from a man with a swastika wrist tattoo.

     When his truck saddles up to the curb my brother looks as shit-faced as me but he’s grinning like a goof and I know it’s dangerous to get in the vehicle but isn’t there danger everywhere you want to see it and besides what choice do I have he’s my brother the one wounded while all those other boys got boxed and shipped home without a chance to bitch about the enemy how they hid under brush like filthy rodents shooting out the legs of good American kids how they did it all wrong and never once fought fair.