on your nineteenth birthday
you started keeping a smile
locked at the edges of your mouth
like a scared man hides a gun in his pocket.

it's been so long
since your brother's told you he loves you,
and you start to hate him
though you visit his grave every year.

at twenty-one you're armed
with flowers in your pockets
a foldable chair and a pack of cigarettes-
*"just in case he needs me to stay the night."