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A man will rise in the middle

of the night, put a noun

where there is none. Like right now

the Segway Human Transporter.

Inventors have their patent wars.

Devices constructed only

to move us. Maybe it's obvious

things are all that's left.

Later I will drag my brother

to a film about two brothers who

walk into a big vault

and get locked inside with only one

flat soda between them

and no real way to breathe

except by drawing air through keyholes

in deposit boxes. The father

who dies earlier in the film

in shorts and sneakers returns

as a benevolent ghost

still feeling human feelings. Today

my brother and I walk

across the park following a trail of ink

droplets until the wind picks up.

Me and my brother in inclement weather.

I eat the piece of hail

he hands to me. Can a poem behave

like a painkiller?

We don't have the technology yet.

©