You knew it made me so mad
when you drew a face on your fist
and turned it into a hand puppet.
Always the Russian spy Boris Badenov
from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show.
Beady eyes, arched brows, slash marks
for his stache as if there’d been
a serious shaving mishap.
Your thumb moving up and down.
Your voice with a thick accent.

Tell zee dentist drill I said hi.

You actually got a C in gym class? WoeAHH!

Thanks for folding zee underwear so purrfectly.

Ginnee, at Sunday School, draw me a picshore
of Jesus getting into trouble.

You and your stupid Bic pen.
I was ten years younger than you.
Where was the mercy for a little sister?
You relentless tease. You brat!
The whole thing still makes me mad.
Maybe that’s why at the crematorium
when the guy in the same plaid jacket
Rodney Dangerfield wore in Caddyshack
handed me the urn, I could barely grasp it.
Bless you, Miss, he chirped, smiling
as big as a horse. Padding down
carpeted corridor toward the exit
it was all I could do not to hurl you
through a window. Tears came then.
Hotter than blood. I should have
thrown myself at you when I had the chance.
I should have beaten you silly
until you stopped swallowing
all the things that killed you.
Then I swallowed and I laughed.
I laughed until I howled in the heart
of a crematorium. If a grinny guy
in a ridiculous jacket had handed you the urn
instead of me, you would have said.

What izzz zat, buddy? My carnival prize?