Soul of my brother
Cast into river of ghosts
I’ll too swim that stream

A cabin den
paneled in knotty pine
slick with thick varnish
jellied in mid-ooze
& running down the grooves.
A festive group gathers
around an electric fireplace
talking up old work stories
in mid-December.
My dad sits dead center
for the camera
wearing the face he wore
when in the company of adults
his long sleeves rumpled
and his collar askew
one arm straight up,
a bottle of Blatz in hand
commending
the buzz.

A dreadful
shadow
moves across the
wallpaper
its twitching
spectral
legs and wings
accenting the
delicate florals

spray it fast
with the can of
Insect Annihilant
or just
smack the ******
with a broom

I'm about to slip
quietly into sleep
when the cat,
her food bowl bare
and the drink dried up
like Mojave,
hops on my back
and feigns affection
her sharp claws
stabbing here & there
in a soft attack
as she carves out
a cozy perch
in my flesh.
I lurch up
grunting and fumbling
pull the short chain
on the night table lamp
and in the pale green glow
pad off into the kitchen
scouting for Cat Chow
and a measure
of peace

The big secret
to producing
perfect eggs
is to let them hatch
into wee chickies,
christen them Buddy
and Isabella
and
love them
for the rest
of their lives

His advance
toward death
was as certain
as sunset
but with
a prelude
that became
a dire
double fortnight
without
so much as
a moon