for Ann
We met at my brother’s deathbed.
Yours one of the few pairs of
panties he had never managed to
get into. But you were there.
Says something good about both of you.
“Wanna go downstairs for a smoke?” I said.
There was that smoke
between the doors in the lobby
and that was it.
The librarian and the drunk.
Suddenly, finally, just knowing something.
Death was winning upstairs
but life was stealing one on him in the lobby.
Your friends said “He’s a drunk. He won’t
even remember your name in two weeks.”
My sister said “I can’t believe you are trying to
score a piece of ass when your brother is dying.”
Now its been ten years.
The friends are gone.
My sister has joined my brother.
Death is still waiting upstairs.
And you are sleeping in the next room,
left foot out from under the covers.