with no regular timing,
like our ex-drummer
when he was drunk.
Like my heart's final beats,
1,000.
in three minutes.
The waves' arrhythmia
is all I hear in my brother's silence.
We sit side by side on the pier,
our legs dangling over the edge.
He and Krista pass a cigarette
back and forth
through me.
Mickey has quit smoking
six times in two months.
I splay my fingers,
admiring how the smoke curls
around and within
their violet glow,
like dry ice at a rock concert.
Mickey drops the cigarette butt
into his can of Pepsi.
It sizzles as the fire dies.
"He was so heavy."
He presses the back of his hand
against his mouth,
as if those four words
are the first drops in a flood
that will drown us all.
"Heavy, like a sandbag,
in my arms.
And behind that door.
It took both of us,
me and our sister, Siobhan,