Geography, Furniture

The bad luck just kept coming,
my mother’s face changing into winter,
her hair gone red to white
just like that. The rutted skin hardly
covers her cheek bones anymore,
she thinks the roses just grew in the vase.
Doesn’t even recognize me.

And Pop, all I got left of him
are the Levi coveralls lying on
my basement floor where he
fractured the hip. We both knew
when he couldn’t move he
was as good as dead, our eyes
looking for the nearest exit.

Now Susan has called
after all these years.
There’s a lump in her breast and
the old pain hasn’t even healed yet.
The God damn dog won’t stop barking,
even at night.