The Pair Who Stayed
The man enters the house
with a tremendous banging
and hawking up phlegm.
He has a cold again.
He goes in the kitchen
and runs the water
at full power—
always full power—
and clatters the knives
in the sink
and rummages, loudly,
for something to eat.
Then he flings himself
into his seat,
turns on the TV
and flicks abruptly
from one station to another.
It’s rude, I think,
cutting off so many speakers
mid-word.
Finally he clicks the power off
and tramples down the hall
to the bedroom.
He’s my brother.
And only when
I hear him
murmuring to the cat
do I realize what
I meant to say:
Is
your cold any better?
Did
you have a nice time tonight?
How
was your day?