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My brother waits in the cold by some men
who stand around and shove each other
out by the dark stones at night

Barely any light in this part of the city
with its dawn till dusk
sledgehammer skyline

and none by the entryway
that coffee dark banister
rubbed down to a soft
plantlike texture

Scrunching my toes against newspaper scraps
crumpled inside my slippers
I think of Michael Douglas
running from explosions in posters

cheap faded lettering from the Eighties
over window displays
peddling secondhand computers

Mom says she's grateful now
not to have to warp her back
as in the old days
over tubs of dirty water

though she complains how soot collects
below the ceiling and how the pipes
rattle all night long

The radio stutters
beside the kerosene lamp
Pharaoh's face mom likes to joke

lingering in the flame
above the beaten olive oil

Yankees up by a run
Mantle Maris Posada Rodriguez
On the shelves above the sandalwood cabinet
Ivory Soap Ovenserve

yellow boxes flickering
as the family looks back
on the wandering life

frozen mornings and treeless evenings
What was it between us

words we were meant
one day to read and understand

Prayers and then it's time for Dad's nap
feather filled mattress at four o' clock
he goes on and on

about the pleasant texture
and plush cushioning

The ceiling lowers as he lies down
The walls shade over
The rooms go quiet

It's almost 1935
and that big new Egghead's Software
is soon to arrive a few doors down

so my brother can carouse the aisles
for RPGs and Shoot 'Em Ups
maybe the latest
Leisure Suit Larry
to play when no one's home

After the outhouse he likes
to sprint from lawn to lawn

past where men in tents stay up all night
playing five card stud by lantern light
waiting for some signal to arrive

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