they’re interchangeable her many tits confirm no favorites

no first no last

at least with only two

both can be a kind of favorite it’s better than three

I ought to know my sister and I each had one parent to herself

like Tea for Two it wasn’t hard to be the boy

until there came the actual boy he was nothing like my father

what does it mean to have flown from the same nest into the world

you’re thinking one is best

one open mouth no first no last but isn’t it

then the parents who compete no wonder the father of animals

wanders off the best is two all right one parent and one child

we’ve seen it work among the elephants

LOST BOY

who says we aren’t primarily animals for instance

you recognize at once the smell of doom and keep away unless

you’re drawn by pheromones like a soldier ant or for once you worry

about your soul he reeked of doom despised by those he loved one parent

missing one parent Pentecostal disgusted by the queer parts of him

he was himself disgusted self-despising snarling sick

unto death the chronic contagious sickness of our times

a righteous judgment was what he called it the rash

erupted over and over no meds no money no readiness

for help if there’d been help no self-defense unless you count

self-sabotage the wounds were old and ugly he kept them fresh he was quick

to take offense except from me and for what for merely a kindness

that brought me letters photos poems seeds saved from his yard roses

profuse on the cards for Mother’s Day on valentines because I was a surrogate

it cost me nothing until he chose oblivion the news was no surprise his gift

was always making something out of nothing

MAESTRO

he smoked like a chimney we used to say unfiltered

Chesterfields the fragile horizontal column of ash

lengthening as he winced at the sour notes but plunged ahead

even when it splashed down onto the keyboard his long hands

showing the smaller hands how it was done the Chopin the Bach

or some reduction of the Nutcracker Suite whatever might be needed

in order to teach the young you also need

herculean belief in the possible and his had sugared off

into a pure elixir he must have sipped from

nights in his rented room in the widow’s house I suppose

she cooked for him and always someone’s mother had sent pie

everyone knew it wasn’t us he loved

but he made his Chevrolet an open closet instruments and scores

and the book that conjured every known song

when there were two pianos the two of us

took turns the solo the orchestra imagine

the odds that he’d turn up in my life in time

to loosen the bony grip of Mrs. Law who kept