In you swoop, with your skeleton key
Your well-thumbed dictionary
And your careful schooling
Giving labels to vague sensations
Giving names to my complications
Inking in the pencil sketch
Of my loose understanding
Of these ancient inner workings

Your delicate hands, so skilfully
Unspooling films that I’ve been censoring
I rush to scramble the combination
But you come with title cards ...

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Five years of cobwebs
decorate the hallway box
more dust at rest
fills the urn within it
that used to be your father...

Don’t look and it won’t hurt
don’t look and it won’t hurt

Your brother’s been drinking
on a fifteen year bender
so quick to lose his temper
if you ask too many questions
a snake prone upon his shoulder

Don’t look and it won’t hurt
don’t look and it won’t hurt

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