sitting in the stroller,
just a chubby bowl of cream,
you can tell our father isn't satisfied.
Already there's an inward drooping
in the baby’s eyes
that mirrors the slump in our father’s face
looking past the child toward something
deep and awful that left its marks on him.
There's nothing displeasing about this baby
boy but his father’s disesteem ages
that child, takes over his life.....
poor health hunts him down
like a demon in the woods and then
But my brother cleaves to my love,
at times thin as an exclamation mark
but not loving him is just too hard
for me to swallow.