Poetry by Mark Dietzen
Finding My Brother Sick
The snow-white, plastic phone rings beside
The harsh, shrill noise like a knife cuts through
Tired eyes are locked behind heavy eyelids.
Nobody ever calls at this virgin dawn
Hand jolts to the receiverthe bearer of
Eyes still closed, the hinges on the angry
Dr. Williams softly speaks in a low tone.
I hear my scared mother cry Oh God.
The shutters violently fly open.
Crimson red alarm clock bleeds 6:10.
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