You don't get it... Do you.
You don't understand what this means.
The fact that you won't even look for help
Won't even try
Thinking you can muscle through it on your own
Like you did last time
Well this isn't last time.
It went away last time.
What if it takes longer this time
What if it takes just a little longer than you can stand
Just a little longer than you can bear
What if it doesn't -go- away this time

You don't understand
Why I'm so scared for you
Why the thought of you trying to do this without help
Without any of your friends around
Without me there
Without a single pillar of support
How the **** are you going to manage that huh?
I'm not saying you're not strong, but Jesus, Hunter, can you even remember what it was like?
I do.
And I wasn't even there.

I remember
Because I was there for you before
You... But a different you.
A different you, in a different town with a different name
But I was there

You don't understand why the thought of you going through this knocks me to my knees at your feet
Begging, pleading,
Praying in earnest for the first time in years
That you won't be so ******* proud...
That you'll put down your defiance and accept help,
That you'll ask for what you need rather than allowing yourself to sit in the dark and suffer an ignominious death of self in the oppressive silence of solitude...
That you won't be alone...
That you won't do it.
That when the silence has totally deafened you to my words of affection and reassurance, that when the winter of solitude has numbed you beyond the point of feeling pain, or passion, guilt or redemption, or the will to live, that when the sun has burned out, and falls to the ground at your feet, never again to shed warmth in your world or mine,
That you won't kick it aside...
That you won't do it.
That you won't pull that trigger, nor take the longest one - step walk you've ever seen.

You don't understand why I'm afraid
I was there before.
When you were a sweet and happy child
Knowing no pain that could not be fixed by wrapping it in band-aids but,
Suffering the awkward throes of early youth, you found the darkness of every man inside yourself, and before you could look away
It had embraced you.
Then I saw
For the first time I understood
What the books meant when they described someone as having "empty eyes"
As being "gaunt", or having features that are "sunken and cold."
I saw you struggle
And I saw when you gave up
I watched you, Hunter.
I watched you drown.
Slowly, I saw your eyes lose the light of life and warmth
Felt your hands turn stiff with blood turned cold
I watched someone I loved die.
He's alive today.
But he died.
I saw it.

You don't understand.
I drowned a little every day
Every day I tried so hard to keep your ******* head above water, but you had stopped fighting
Stopped thrashing against the icy waters
You GAVE UP, ******...
And I almost did too.

Have I ever told you I'm afraid of drowning?
And here you are again
Stepping into the same water.
I can't keep your head above the waves.
I can't do it, not on my own
But you won't ask for help.
Why don't you cry for help, why don't you TRY?!
And all I can do is be here treading water, watching,
Floundering helplessly,
Once again watching you drown...

Do you understand? Do you know why I'm afraid?

I was afraid I would lose you.                                                    And then I did

The milkman
let me and Helen
ride on the back
of his horse-drawn

milk wagon
through the Square
stopping here and there
to deliver milk

and eggs
and orange juice
Helen had got caught
in a downpour

of rain
and her thick lens
spectacles
were smeary

where she had wiped them
on her dress
her hair
had been plaited

into two plaits
over her shoulders
soggy looking
ought to

go back home
and change out
of the wet stuff
I said

or you'll catch
yourself a cold
Mum's out
Helen said

gone shopping
up the Cut
with the others
the milk wagon

moved on
the horse trotting
slowly forward
the man with a boxer dog

walked by
and gave us
a stare
sitting there

you could go
to my flat
my mum'll
find you

something dry
I said
I’ll be all right
Helen said

I'll dry out
the milkman
stopped again
and we got off

and walked through
the side
of the flats
and crossed Bath Terrace

and into Jail Park
you sure
you're all right?
I said

your dress
is clinging
to your legs
she pulled the dress

from her legs
I’ll be ok
so we went
into the area

where the swings
and slide were
and got on
the swings

for big kids
and pushed ourselves
high into the air
holding on

to the chains
at the side
our shoes trying
to touch

the grey clouds
then we went
on the slide
but Helen got stuck

half way
because her wet dress
held her there
so she climbed down

and we walked back
to my flat
where my mother
got her some

dry clothes
of my sister's
and put Helen’s clothes
in front of the fire

to dry
and we watched
the steam rise
from them

into the sitting room air
as we sat
on the sofa
with our bemused stare.

Mr Fin
thin
moustached

and grey suited
talked
of the Plague of London

in 1665
and people dying
and red crosses

on doors
and rats and ships
and BRING OUT

YOUR DEAD
being yelled
through

the narrow streets
we sat enthralled
taking in

the history lesson
Dennis drew a cross
on his palm

in red ink
(he had a job
to get that off

in recess)
and said
I bet he was there

old Fin
bet he was a kid
back then

it was almost
three hundred
years ago

I said
this is 1956
Dennis shrugged

his shoulders
and kept
to his theory

I watched the teacher
and how his hand
wrote so neatly

on the board
and drew a picture
of streets

with doors
with red crosses
and shadowy people

hanging round
Janice sat to my right
her eyes glued

to the board
as Mr Fin
wrote and drew

her chin
in the palm
of her thin hand

scribbling
in her exercise book
with her right hand

I liked her fair hair
the way it flowed
over her shoulders

like water
over rocks
the way her fingers

touched her cheek
as her palm
held the chin

another girl
sat next to her
some fat girl

with black hair
and a thin
faint moustache

and earrings
I liked Janice's
pink ear

showing through
a gap
in her hair

then Fin said
next time
we'll talk

of the Great Fire
of London
in 1666

Dennis stuck gum
under his desk
Janice closed her book

and gave me
her engaging  
young girl look.