The long upper room
used to be a kitchen.
Now it’s full of his laundry—
brewery shirts hang like bats.
It’s where the coonhound
shits during storms.
Downstairs, the brothers
gift each other identical axes,
bond over bevels and beards,
wink across their blades
towards the stolen tree—
fenced off and dressed up—
a thing of beauty.
An old knot loosens,
then is manually retightened
and doused in liquor.
Potatoes scooped from a sink
taste the same under a dram
of mushroom gravy
and we’ve brushed most of
the dirt from the bird—
flavours you’ll appreciate
tomorrow.
Hugs lengthen with scotch pours
until the siblings become
like the old fridge photo:
The youngest boy held upright
by the oldest boy.
The sister leaning in.
His axe splits the pumpkin pie.
He’s choking up on the handle.
He’s choking up.
INSTANT NOODLES 