The Sad Druggist

Exhausted, yet hopeful, wan and yet longing
Loaded with self-distrust,
I dressed in the dark, knowing that I must go,
And find my brother before my mother woke,
(Responsibility less clear obsessed me).
Comforted only by the knowledge
Involved in dressing, each garment
As I donned it, swathed me like a bandage,
Wounded as if I had four faces,
(What a comfort clothes are! like love and sleep
They charge with poise and they hide the self
From its pitying interest and its darting glances),
Each button locked my heart which like a crab
Clutched on, squeezing itself alone,
Gasping, my dearest brother's absence its vacuum.

Then as I tiptoed from the apartment,
Tiptoed not to awaken my mother,
Down the stairs, into the hallway, grateful
To see the light again, then, then was begun
That Monitor's voice who watched me always,
Seated, an eye or miner's light,
Upon my head, directing the gushing plum
Beneath my breast to crash its fortissimo
Anguish, beating out time, heartbroken bleeding:
"You who, teetering adolescence, do not know
What you do, what is done, what you can do

The Sad Druggist 2

Stop, do not go on! the memory,

Of all your fathers forewarns: go back to sleep!

Still utterly a child, yet I went on
(More fugitive because of this placeless voice)
Into the long street, guarded gravely

By an apartment house, whose pyramidal shadow
Increased by silent span my desolation
(For in such stillness all buildings stand and hold
Of such a silence the execution of dread),

But, suddenly abstracted, I tiptoed on the curbstone!
Perfectly interested, in pure pleasure, separate
From my aching fear,
I tiptoed on and teetered but took care,
Enacting precision!

and turned the corner:

Frail moonlight, ghastly as whitewash,
Greeted me, bringing back the fear which crouched,
It seems, waiting on all sides,

so that

Seeing far off a lighted drugstore, I went there,
Longing to speak to someone:

"Is it too late",

I asked "to get an ice cream soda?"
Timid and longing.

"I will see", said the druggist,
Out of a tiredness which now I know,
For he, behind the counter, read a book,
"If any ice-cream is left".

"There is.", he said.

The Sad Druggist

3

"There is!" I thought, grateful for the least good.
How far and how apart I sat there then,
Hunched on the backless stool.

Thus, sipping, I
Communicated with my dying childhood,
Sliding away beneath me.

"Why",
Asked the druggist, mopping the marble counter
With a wet rag "is a young boy like you
Still up so late ?"

Rapt in immediate sweetness,
I took the straw from my mouth, hesitant,
Doubtful,afraid of ridicule.

"Because
I could not sleep", I said, returning to my soda,
Absorbed in pleasure.

"You ought to be in bed
Asleep", the druggist said.

"My brother's gone",
I blurted out. I woke up and the bed
Next to mine was empty. Something is wrong
Or he would not go away. Now I don't know
Where to look for him. I don't know
Where to begin".

I saw, suddenly, startled,
My face flat on the fountain's mirror.
"Listen", the druggist said, "Go home, go home
And go to bed. Nothing is wrong,

Except with you. Your brother has not left.
He is still there. I know. I know your dream,
It is incurable as love, and a settled cough."

The Sad Druggist

4

I paled at this: "How can you tell from here
That he has not gone? How can you know?"
And I stiffened in fear.

"I know. I know.

Go home and go to bed and go to sleep."

"Don't keep saying that. Can't you see that that's
Much worse? If I was wrong at first,
Then I am worse off now and wrong again!"

I said this, blushing hotly, self-betrayed.

"This is as I thought: like anyone,
Not care for your brother moves you,
No one, seeking his brother, drinks sweet soda,
No one, in such an absence, salves himself
With carbonated pleasure!"

"No, I care

For my brother very much. Never before,
Since he was born, have we been separated,
But sleeping side for fifteen years."

"You care for yourself and not him. You nurse
Yourself and tend yourself."

"Who else", I shouted,

"Will care for me? Who else? Who else is there?
Who will take care of me?"

I said this in a childish voice.

"Don't shout. Go home

And go to bed."

"Stop saying that. Who wants
Your advice? Who are you, anyway,
To tell the sick that they're well?"

The Sad Druggist

5

"Stop shouting or get out. You can't shout here."
"What would you do if someone really
Were sick? What would you do, would you
Send them away like this? My brother's gone
And I must look for him."

"Stop shouting". "I

Won't listen to you. Something else troubles you
And you visit your pain upon me. "Get out!
Get out!" The druggist said, seizing my shoulders,
Dragging me to the door, putting me out
With one last thrust.

I burst into hot tears
But did not struggle. Then he shut the door,
Behind, chapping it closed. The lights went out,
And I was alone, at night's great mercy, once more.