Broken Hinges

Sitting hunched over on the curb,

I watch the ambulance drive away,

the sun dipping down on our other-

wise empty street, its sidewalks lined

by the shuttered houses of our former

neighbors and their overgrown grass.

For the third time in six weeks, my

brother is on board, his sunken face

masked in fogged-up silicone from

his tepid breathing, while back in the

house, the bathroom door is again on

the floor, broken from its hinges.

Jerrod Laber is an Appalachian poet and writer, currently based in Virginia.