There are some famous people from nearby my hometown,

And I’ll tell you who they’re related to:

These two brothers who used to ride the bus with me.

They were grimy and unkempt,

Ungroomed and greasy.

One of them skipped school a lot.

One day I found a note on the floor beside the trashcan

That the younger brother thought he’d thrown away.

It was from his mother, to whom it may concern,

Asking if herboy could please be excused from PE class

Because he had leukemia.

I kept it in my duffel bag for at least two weeks,

Tormented by what I should do with it.

Turn it in?

When the kid had tried to throw it away on the bus?

None of us at school, including the teachers knew he was sick,

But he sure looked it.

One day it hit us that he hadn’t been at school for awhile,

And his older brother wasn’t riding the bus anymore.

He was driving an old beat up car around town.

Some of the better, more Christian parents of the town

Had given him the nickname Satan.

They were pretty sure he was dealing drugs 

Or at least taking them.

And I still had that note in my duffel bag.

Every once in a while I would take it out 

And read it, and cry.

I still do.

Or at least I did

Till my house burned down a month ago.

Everything went up in smoke,

Including that old duffel bag,

Swollen with strange eclectic memories

That I collected through my teenage years.

They helped me remember the fears I had, 

And how far I’ve come since then.

But right now I don’t feel I’ve come very far at all,

When I think of the Croft’s brothers

And their very famous uncles,

And how close to greatness they truly might have been.

-jenn