04/28

playland

the end times are for hamburgers
& brothers. we parked the car 
in lava & watched it melt like cheese.
brother the size of pea in our pockets.
he cried for french fries
so we ordered some without any salt.
took refuge in the molten plastic.
plumetted the red slide
& mashed in the ball pit like 
basketed tomatoes. 
there are no instructions 
for becoming an eldest brother.
you look at your hands & noticed
they are smaller than all your brothers
so you take them off & send them
to play with legos in purgatory.
enough ketchup to believe in blood again.
no wifi signal, just the mcdonalds clown
shouting news headlines at the top
of his lungs. what i wouldn't give
to be a mascot instead of boy-mother.
wash our hands in a slit cloud.
our shoes float off 
on a torrent of lime soda.
how were we supposed to keep
night from falling. then, curb-sitting
& counting loose stars.
is that your son? 
no that's my brother, he's
limited edition. take off
his detachable sadness & 
put it in the glove box.
we drive home through helpeless highways
still munching on this & that.
brother please stop crying, i hope
quietly to myself. guilt is 
the needle sewing each hair
into my head. a gust of wind
is a gentle repreieve. everything smells
like tatter-tots & processed patties.
feeding my brother from 
the palm of my hand. little animal.
i promise to guard him even if 
he only gets smaller. despite
the lateness of the moon
& despite the lack of honey mustard.
driving we pass playland 
after playland & he begs
to stop at each so i do. 
red slide. blue slide. tic tac toe. 
bare feet to sidewalk.
headlights spilling & ravenous.
we will be home soon
i promise him. he kisses 
my thumb. 
 

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