Liquid Gold

PCPPhencyclidinea.k.a. angel dust.

From my corner of the room,one eye on the world, the otheron whatever book held half my attention

I only saw PCP in liquid form.I watched my father dip Sherman’s Cigaretellosinto small bottles of dust, angel dust.

I watched a lot and said littlein those days.He did not call them Sherman’s Cigaretellos.

He called them Sherm’s, as if theywere longtime friends.Everyone and everything had a nickname.

He’d say, Ol’ Pal Ovaltine, run to the storeand pick me up some Sherm’s.At that, I dropped my book before hethreatened to burn it for not being fast enough.

Ten-year-olds could buy cigarettesor cigaretellos with a note frommom or dad in 1979, so I ran with my note

to the store around the block, on the corner,and picked up Sherm’sin the thin cardboard box with a red oval.

I ran my long, thin, brown bodyback to the housewith the long, thin, brown cigaretellos,

gave them to Floyd andreturned to my corner of the roomand propped my book

just high enough to see everything.After the Sherman’s were dippedinto the liquid gold, Floyd smoked and smoked,

and smoked. The house filled with a lazyfog that felt heavy like gasoline.Yuself swore he saw ghosts

in the smoke, but I never saw them.Though I think I used to be smarter.I know I used to be steadier.

My hands did not shake like they do now.They have since I was eleven.Floyd loved to smoke with his best friend

Billy L. One day Billy L. smoked Sherm’sand thought he was Superman.He jumped off a high roof and survived.

Floyd said smoking Sherm’smakes you feel like a god.I am guessing it was that god feeling

he had the day he hit his angel Billy L.on the back of the head with a rockand threw him in the river.

Billy L. did not survive.