PCBs

Ripkin won’t touch the water because of the PCBS

He says he doesn’t want to turn into anything unnatural.

He mumbles this as he tries to squeeze the last drops of rot gut from a bottle.

Since we can’t afford a full bottle, we keep sucking the old ones dry

We line them up along the dock and Ripkin goes from one to the next like a bee desperate to make honey.

I try, too, only I keep seeing my own reflection in the bottom of each bottle.

“It’s the genes,” Ripkin says. “Once those PCBs get into your genes, you’re a dead man.”

I look over the edge of the dock and see my reflection there, too.

Not my blood shot eyes, but dark things stirring in the water behind my face.

When I ask Ripkin what PCBs look like, he looks at me like I’m crazy.

He doesn’t answer the question.

He just puts down one bottle and picks up the next.

I suggest we go downtown to panhandle.

Neither of us moves.

It’s like the PCBs have a hold on us, waiting for the moment when Ripkin reaches for that last bottle before he starts it all again.

I need to know what they are, what they look like, feel like, are they hot or cold.

Will they hurt if I stick my finger in the water the way Ripkin won’t

And how will they change me if I do.

I need to know them so when they finally come, I will still have time to run.