My brother did drugs in high school.

Cocaine, uppers, other things. Heroin

was too much for him, he said

in his diary. It didn’t really happen

if no one hears you say it. Like Vegas,

which I’ve never been to sober,

except for the time I was invited

to speak at a conference, deep inside

the Bellagio, & I could almost feel

the haze of desperation weeping

from the tables, the cigarette smoke

stroking my lapel. It triggered a memory

from childhood: Dad dangling

two pinched fingers out the window,

begging Just one, just two minutes,

breathing in the misted tires & asphalt.

Later, the image of my sister, alone

in the garage, hunched over a flaring

orange glow. Taking a drag, she called it

in her diary. No one saw this.

She kept a lot of things inside,

which my wife tells me she can’t do,

she has to tell someone, after hanging up

the phone call confirming her friend

had just overdosed the night before

his young son’s birthday. I’m telling you

but I know you won’t believe it.

The drive home wasn’t very long.

We were staying at a rental.

When we parked, we turned to the kids,

cradling their porcelain faces

in our hands, & made them promise,

on their lives, not to break a thing.