The dead tried everything
to get into the house,
shadowed milkmen and jimmied
the lock through the chute,
razored screens, bullied door keys
from the kiddies. We woke
to the smell of missing
kielbasa, ice cream melted
on the linoleum floor.
My sisters puzzled
over dresses and bras
ripped at the seams, I grinned
with the funnies through the squint
of a shiner.
We sat round a table ambushed
by bed sheets, bodies
from strange corpses sewn
to our souls, hurled
into door frames, crashed bicycles
down stairs, dodged bricks
and knives flying through air.
Sponge baths couldn’t cool
the pink from our fear.
I rarely stay in one place
for long, wear wigs
and colored contacts, fearing
another man’s foot
in my shoe.
