I love my dead son,
As much as my sons alive.
They are the only

ones I have alive.
My wife passed on years ago,
It’s my sons and I

left all to survive.
The job at the factory
was taken from me.

As was my old pipe.
I swear I have not smoked since.
Work is now downtown,

On top a sidewalk
by a sewage pipe dripping
with grease and grime a-

bound. No one seems to
want my mail stamps anymore,
So I guess it’s through.

Trod home, overgrown
path of tangles. At least, at
least—I have my boys.