Where I Used To Live

empty cans of chef boyardee
contents divorced from the can
into spotted blue plastic bowls
chocolate milk in a tall glass
sweet on the tongue and later sour in the stomach

streets between stacks of cluttered
newspapers
most older than the eldest brother
there’s enough room on the kitchen table, between the towers,
for the bowl, the glass, the steel spoon, and the empty can

stained carpets
hairballs lonely and unattended
scattered wind-up toys from happy meals
a cracked window behind the television and a speaker system,
whose wires have never been connected

a pink room upstairs with flares of flowers on the bed’s quilt
a blue room too, a blue sweatshirt forgotten on the floor
the other three rooms stuffed
with boxes of magazines and stained gold necklaces and expired
coupons for food lion and walmart

christmas tree in the study though
it’s fall and the tree’s been there since winter’s freeze
winking red light on the wireless router
like a single christmas light or from a life support system
for the computer long dead on the desk

a ripped alimony or child support check
under the keyboard
from a tall lawyer I used to see
and
you want to see again