Joaquín doesn’t live here anymore . . .
“… he died of the Vietnam War
from drug and alcohol abuse.” — it’s what I tell
whoever still asks about my brother
Joaquín
I remember Joaquín
he used to fill my head with stories
about days he’d spent on furlough
in the summer of ’67
in San Francisco
while recuperating from two broken legs
at Treasure Island Naval Base hospital
he described in foggy detail the Haight-Ashbury
the Fillmore
how he’d watched Eric Burton
who was a regular then
tripping on acid
singing blindfolded
daring himself to not walk off
the edge of the stage
he also introduced me to his Missouri Meerschaum
a yellow corn-cob
with a tortoise-shell colored plastic mouthpiece
and the small bag of Vietnamese
he had smuggled
from his tour of duty in ‘Nam
my thoughts
suddenly
a stream of moving pictures
thoughts
dreamed
I closed my eyes
and in an instant
opened them
the bohemian . . .
… painting the pages