Am I My Brother’s Keeper?

In memory of George Floyd

If so, I did a very poor job of it.Our alcoholic father beat us all.
It was hard to stop him. If I was at work(Since thirteen), I couldn’t deflect his fists.
It was hard to hate him. He was my father.I didn’t know how to be his father.
I didn’t even know how to be a brother.And how was I supposed to be a husband?
Just imagine if my skin had been black,My only future a knee in the neck.
As it was, Billy died in heroin wars,Henry, of bootleg liquor, and David,
The youngest, absorbed too many beatingsTo have any chance, even in high school.
But he stayed with Alma through everything,Her second marriage (a horror story),
Her final years of morbid obesity,And her funeral he couldn’t afford.
I failed them all, but I learned one thing for sure:It would have been worse if my skin had been black.