Home, with Figurative Language
Spread-eagle on the buzzing generator behind the dialysis center, we read, in rounds, the great poet who died of tongue cancer. A state senator bestowed honors upon the oldest tortoise in our petting zoo. Beaver Lane became Cherry Lane because all of the beavers left. When J.’s father went down to the basement & never came back up, we all felt the ghosts trailing our backsides like tails, lapping at our bodies like the breeze, so we huffed & huffed the warm glue in our paper bags until we glimpsed new colors. The year before that we were Capulets. The year before that we rolled up to the walls of cardboard Troy in a giant cardboard horse & sacked the entire city. Visiting J. in the treatment center, he says what he misses most is the people.