Pen to Paper: “For my brother”

When I left my brother said the house had a tangible lacking

empty like hollowed stone – no, like snapshots from before.

 

I guess I liked the music loud or maybe just enough to drown

the downstairs shuffle, you know, the thing that stalls the morning.

 

You see, these are the first days of spring when I find myself sitting

barefoot in unsuitable weather wishing for the March’s and April’s

 

we would climb ass first out mom’s bathroom window to the roof

we watched the neighbors fight with doors closed their kitchen

 

painted a grapefruit orange, so bright and tacky it stuck. They yelled

about dishes and yelled about kids, though I think we made that up, right?

 

We used to run wild tip over trash cans paint the neighbors garage

I guess she was right to call the police but it’s true she was a bitch.

 

And this is why I’m wondering if we’re really done here if

we’ve stuffed ourselves full and thrown hands on it all. Look,

 

I never thanked you for that time you dragged me by the hair from the bar

on Fore last summer, you see, at least I didn’t puke in your car like when

 

I held you, shook you, kept you from running away made you stay

and make a plan and look where we made it we’re almost unscathed.

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