Politics

Museum


Better than the minivan you slept
a winter in, American Legion

parking lot, siphoning gas for heat,
but not much better. Cinder-block

apartment building on Homestead,
a couple miles from mom’s. Got in

through the window. Waded through
the cans and bedding. Left it open

for the smell. Tried not to look
at the stain. Tried to be respectful

like in a museum. Stood so long
in front of your dresser, my brother

touched my elbow. Everything
we touch, you touched. Your socks.

Your coat. The cash in your pockets.
The cellophane from a fresh pack.

Zippo with a carving of a whale,
proud ship in the distance.



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