Bryan Adams and the Ritual of the Curtains

My brother must still have been in a wheelchair
because we pushed past high rises
and people who were respected at five
and drunk by seven.
I threw pennies at the Carnival Queen.
"Don't aim for her face" someone shouted.
Now it seems I was smaller than I was but
I'm sure I saw more than knees
and hightops
and plastic cups filled with Carnival nectar.

Later, my hands greasy with vinegar and the memory of chips,
we walked up the hill that unfolded into the sky
Unending
and unforgiving
At home, Bryan Adams played on the radio.
I realised then that my family would die.
Thats when it started.
Vinegar hung heavy like dustsheets over everything.
It's what I remember most.
That smell of vinegar and the overwhelming realisation
that I controlled my families future
with the ritual of the curtains.