Brad Kavo – “Tin Can Man”

Sounds

of urgency

travel upstairs

although

they whisper,

heads huddled

close by,

like mice,

so small,

set deep

within their nest,

safe from

giant shovels,

probably.

My breathing

slows to stillness

as I wait

for crinkling

pillow fibers

to quiet so

I can imagine

my hearing

grow longer,

more direct,

like superpowers,

a tin can

placed anywhere

my mind

commands.

Tin Can Man:

With his

supersonic hearing,

knows all.

Now, its path

leads from

my bed,

through the

crack in the door

where a splinter

of yellow

nightlight cuts

across

my floor,

down the hall

and steps,

taking a right—

no, a left—

into our

dining room

where they

sit close,

alone, arms

around

each other.

I place

my other can

between them

and listen.

Jeff let me

go today.

Only me.

Don’t know

why. Then:

We’ll sell

stuff,

the van,

the extra TV,

our dignity.

Most of what

they say

escapes me,

yet when

I hear dad

cry and

mom say

something

in a voice

weak as a

mouse, I drop

my can

and turn

over on

my pillow,

away from

my bedroom

door to

face the wall,

not caring

what noise

I make

because it’s

tough sleeping

with even

a splinter

of light

across

your sight.

Superhero stuff

is made up

anyway.