My brother smoked, drank coffee –
pushed a cup into my hand
when I returned from school
though the scabs tracking his back
matched the grip of a pool cue.
I hear the other side
of a mother’s wartime anecdotes –
christened with glass
as she sat in a metal bath.
Wood, air and glass,
a migration of envelopes
around the aisles
mop every drop
as we are delivered an elegy.
In the Wimpy, after chucking out,
sat in the window I watched
as someone punched his head again and again.