Tonight around four a.m., after yelling,
stumbling and crashing had ended,
I went downstairs to inspect the damage.
A table had been overturned again;
broken glass and flowers, food and wine,
plates and napkins all over the floor.
While I stood there, a neighbor came to the door.
“What the hell is going on in this house?
How many people live here and why
are they in the street ramming dumpsters with cars?
I know the owners of this house,
and you cannot continue to live here like this.”
My brother came to the door,
spoke to the man outside
and came back in. I almost bashed him.
Tomorrow, I meet with a lawyer and a banker,
then clean this woman’s house
while he sleeps.
