To Bobby

My cousin died in an accident in the mid-90s. I wrote this poem in memory of him.

You still had so many years to live.
An asinine mistake and your sands of time were blown away.

The dual-wheeled vehicle was dangerous enough,
No steel body to protect you,
No seatbelt to hold you in place.
All you had was a helmet, but that wasn’t enough.

Then you mixed in alcohol, still underage.
You had so much to live for, Bobby.

In a few months you would have been twenty-one.
In a few weeks you would have been an uncle.