Moonlighting

Days I'm a lifeguard
at the township park,
helping lost children find their parents,
diverting teenage riots
and scooping cigarettes from the sand
with a specially altered
dog-doo shovel.
Nights I take care of my family --
meaning my mother, father, baby brother
and myself.
First thing through the door I check on mother --
conscious or not? Yes, conscious.
I wade through the bedside pills
and fluff a pillow,
proceeding to the kitchen
where an angry,
inebriated man
impatiently waits for his dinner.
"First the baby,"
I say, making room on the stovetop
to heat the little formula provided.
He curses, crushing his empty
and grabbing another.
Baby brother cries in the background
throughout.

Days I'm a lifeguard
at the township park.

Nights I save people from drowning.