Poem #18: You Told Me About the Birds

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Brother calls again from Cleveland,
fifth time in three days;
he's always calling now,
since his last hospitalization,
since he said he stopped drinking,
since he does not speak to
anyone else in the family.
Again with news of the U of M,
his old alma mater, and what he plans to gift;
again with the story of
Ms. Brown, his neighbor, and her snorting pug;
again with the mention of how much
his paperweights are worth
and what to do with them
when his will kicks in, when
he kicks it.
His speech stumbles over the phone.
I can hear his voice echo in his empty apartment,
most of what he had stolen by the movers--
he must have pissed them off royally.
"Did I tell you I was feeding the birds
so's they'd stick around and eat the mosquitos?"
Yes, I say again,
you told me about the birds.
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