Stream of consciousness poem -- part VIII

October 14, 2011 – At the house

The house told a story

From the moment

We pulled up

It was a cute house

A sweet house

A must-have-been-charming-once house

But the grass met our knees

The front door was locked

But the back door

Was not

Once inside

The disarray

Staggered us

Layer upon layer of depression

Was evident

The mail flooded

The kitchen

There was food

And water

For the cats

But none for my

Brother

And in the kitchen

We found the knives

That cut his wrists

And a belt

Looped into a noose

And upstairs

We found

The empty can of

Drano

We had to search

For identification

To prove he lived

Before he died

To change his name

Back from “broccoli”

Finally, in the pocket

Of a pair of jeans

I found his ring of keys

And his dog tags and

That’s all