Replacements

 Just wrote this little gem. Enjoy. Nothing like a little love poem buried within something deeper. :)

Replacements

My father was working. My mother was cleaning.

My brother was golfing. My sister was crying
in the crib. The black dog was gone. The new one

was white. Dreaming in the den, she kicked out
her hind legs. Everything inside -- that whole world --
was cream and quiet. Grounded, I sat in the backyard,

hidden beneath the weeping willow, grabbing a thin

twig, scraping the mud out from under my nails,
laughing and scrawling half-torn, loose-leaf notes

about old men hiding gin, your thin, blue sweater,
the neighbor’s bad magazines, describing the way
the prostitute’s thick, tangled hair covered her left,

green eye -- just like mine, minus the branches --

loose pieces trapped in her open mouth, glued there
by momentary wind. Soon, there would be no more

Maltese, and maybe the kitchen would turn yellow,
and I could even tear up my homemade words
or wash my hands clean. The dough was better

than the cookie. I thought I should raise my hand

and tell the teachers about all of the curious, troubled
people, how the family on the right side packed up,

disappearing in the middle of the night. I wondered
why I couldn’t spit and tackle like the boys, and why
everyone seemed to love Bryan, when deep down,

I knew that by the time I turned eleven, I’d be a whole

inch taller, and by then, clearly, you would be coming
to replace him.

C.A. MacConnell