Heroin

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Sometimes I have to write.  The kids are in bed.  I’m trying to sleep.  My mind won’t shut off.

Two days ago,  I came face to face with a man who overdosed on heroin.  I felt so powerless.  I felt the urge to bubble wrap my kids, all our kids.  Now that the shock is starting to wear off, I feel the need to do something different.

It starts by sharing this experience with you and hoping the next step reveals itself to me after that.

 

Another

Cradled safely in the crease of his cargo shorts,

the ash on his cigarette

stretched

fading from pale orange

to silver

to white

 

We’re at the corner of South Maple and Lockwood.

 

His red Powerade

balanced on the emergency brake

with only the first few sips

gone

 

Yes, I took the keys out of his ignition.

Yes, he is breathing.

 

In the driver’s seat

his head on his chest

snoring

impervious to the lights and sirens

alone

 

But for me and Cathy

two strangers

hoping to save his life

 

That’s what you get for trying heroin.

 

He spat the words

at the sleeping man

their poison not staining

his own crisp white shirt

or badge

 

His callousness

his armor

against another call

to another place

for another person

he can’t save

 

 

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