The Lost Boys

On Christmas Eve my aunt falls

on me for support, vodka tongued

and weepy. Her boys are gone,

lost to powders, to guns. I picture her

in court, wrecked after the sentencing,

helpless to drive safely anywhere.

we alternated roles, how greedily

I reached for the gun, emptied

BBs into leaves at my cousins’ feet

and dreamed of aiming higher.