Kid From the Block: A Poetry Collection

The Bridge Near the School

I picked you up from a trash can under that bridge near the school. That night I snuck you into the house and washed you in the sink while mom and dad yelled and their yelling used to get to me, make me anxious, but I was okay since you didn't seem to mind. I felt like cleaning you was an escape to a better life but when dad found out about you hiding in my room, he threw you outside and burned my hand but I didn't care about the pain but seeing you go is what hurt the most. Then you came back, and when you did, father threw you out again. Then dad realized you were too stubborn and made us sleep in the garage, but it was okay. Those nights were the best. Mom made both of us sweaters that Christmas, but it was the last holiday we shared with her since she grew weak and never woke up. We were never the same that night, but you and I had each other back. Dad asked me why I brought you home that night and I said it was because of you. You've never liked me, and now mom is gone, and now it's just us. Then we broke away from the garage and into my room, like that first night. From house to house and job to job, we were best friends. When the bullies chased me home, you and dad ran after them and I did too. I was no longer afraid and those monsters never returned. Eventually, dad began to like you and even take you on walks when I wasn't feeling well. I moved out and dad took care of you, but we would always reunite on the weekends but now you're sick as well, and I don't know what to do. For a while, you stopped eating but I should've known this would happen eventually. We're in the car right now and you seem at peace. Like your job is done. Dad and I are taking you to the vet one last time, he thinks you'll meet mom and I hope so too. We're passing the bridge now. I wish you could tell me you remembered it because it won't be the same for me. I guess all I'm trying to say is thanks.