Forever Dino

Second born cousin. First one, his brother, little Johnnie dead. Nuns said to my
aunt he was going to hell. At eighteen months. The second born cousin who used my toothbrush and I never used it again though it sat
slipped through metal hanging there for four years with my cousin's germs and all I can think of is his smile and how it made me wish that we weren't related. He with his punk rock and mohawks and arrogance and motorcycles.
I believe I have a photograph of the very moment I fell head over heels in love with that smile. I was a little girl with uneven hair and you were a big boy then, ten I think.
I was disappointed
that on your deathbed, you cried for forgiveness. A thing like you does not have to concern itself with sin. I would have liked to be with you when you took your last breath. I would have covered your lips with
mine and ached for your last moments to include a little spasm of the tongue. Jean jackets and
safety pins and all the women I found your ass in a bar somewhere in Louisiana while I'm up north on the phone you
couldn't believe it because as you so eloquently put it: "My old lady didn't even know where I was!" When I love
something no matter how far away, I protect it and can easily find it. Just not quite sure how cancer
slipped by on my watch.