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.