Two Deaths

by J. K. Durick

My brother always said he be dead
Before he was twenty-one, said he’d
Die and he did, in the middle of a
Summer night coming home from a
Bar, drunk behind the wheel, dead,
And just nineteen years old, dead in
The middle of the road, road-kill
I never saw but have imagined all
These years, the images haunt me
Dead before he was twenty-one.
Even his dog outlived him; years
Later I took her to the vets the final
Time, she was old and sick, had lost
Control of everything; I held her
When the vet shot her with whatever
They shot into dogs back then,
At first she wiggled, strained a bit,
Then one last groan and she was gone
Gone off perhaps to finally catch up
With him, my brother; like me,
She had waited nights, waited for
His return for years, and then she
Would have to wait no more.