A wall of hanging pictures all fall
to the floor at once. The shattering
of glass and the barrage of all the frames
decorates the room in grand disorder.
In the carnage you could see Fiona’s
legs stick out from under their
old dog who was half shrouded
by some splintered wood and torn up
scraps of paper.
Landscapes from their desert trip
with rock formations like gates
made out of stone. A statue of their grandpa
killing snakes. Their father on his motorcycle
and his helmet with the skull. Their mother
at the moment she was married.
The brothers dressed in western clothes
with guns decked out to look like they could
kill you if they tried. A casket with an eagle
clawing roses on the side. At the center
all together in their nicest sets of clothes
they were posed in such a way to say, “I’m sorry.”
Teleporting Typewriter 