In Queens, my aunt ties her trash up tight
with a string. Out on the curb, it is boxed,
a beautiful offering. God only knows what's inside.
At Robbie's house, 3a.m., it's a Kevin Bacon marathon.
We drink Coke until our teeth hurt. Everyone
is busy ignoring the cat hair covering every surface.
In suburbia, my brother tells an improbable story--
how his wife moved his baseball bat, and is therefore
responsible for the intruder making it up the stairs--
neither she nor I stop him.
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