last week, my brother dropped his heart
on the pavement and we both
watched as it cracked right open,
spilling in red ribbons and golden gears
like a lipstick kiss smack-dab on the sidewalk.
it was his fault, mind. only a fool
goes around with their heart out of their chest,
tossing it up and down
like it's a softball ready for a pitch.
i told him so, told him i wasn't going to
clean up his mess, and he said fine,
fine, he said, bent over his heart,
twisting clockwork with clumsy oil-slick fingers
to see if it could be put back together.
only a fool thinks cracked hearts
can be fixed just like that.
so that was how i left him--
kneeling in a puddle of bloody grease--
because really, little brother,
what were you thinking?
letting the world have a claim at your heart