My Sister’s Record Collection
Author: Bill Roberts
Just as CD’s were becoming affordable,
my sister gave me her large record collection
after Jimmy, one of her younger boys, was killed.
Jimmy had been waiting for a red light to change,
a bunch of Harley beneath him, waiting to surge,
when the drunk in too much of a hurry hit him
doing almost ninety in his Olds 88.
The coroner said he’d never before seen a
person with every bone broken until Jimmy.
Jimmy with long hair and long pauses between thoughts,
killed by a well-known man in the community,
nary a blemish on his record and still not
to have one after this nuisance of a hippie
kid without a job and little hope had gotten
in his busy path on the way home late to his
precious wife and their three darling kids who needed
their daddy more than the world needed another
unkempt kid on a Harley – no job, no promise.
The records were warped and didn’t play worth a damn
but I took them off my sister’s hands, already
moving too anxiously, in need of things to do,
to get busy again with her life, having lost
a son to a system that no longer enjoys
old records that should be broken to pieces.
(Published in The Raintown Review, January 2000 issue)
Note: Sadly, a too true story, Jimmy one of sister Patsy’s twin boys. They visited us in Boulder shortly before Jimmy was killed by this “solid citizen,” showed up with a pal in their love wagon, a temperamental VW bus. Neighbors were aghast. I was delighted – nothing I like more than surprising the neighbors. We had a ball with the kids, though didn’t partake in any pot smoking. Funny thing, Irene and I missed the drug generation. Not nearly as much as I miss my nephew Jimmy. Terrible loss.
