that space

when my brother smiles
you’d expect a cuckoo bird
to pop out of that space.
tell you what
time it is. Running away
from tom, jerry goes
into that obligatory hole
of safety and rodent-brained chicanery.

on cloudless days with lips
divorced, the sun’s oomph
finds it way into and on his
mouth muscle warming it
up so that it’s limber
enough to follow his brain’s
whistle instructions
to be performed through
that un-hung piece of drywall
that stolen piano key
that busted chiclet
that missing picket.

his shrill alarm makes me
foot-stab the horizontal pedal. It ends the
reversing. I throw his truck
in park. I watch him
through the rearview mirror.
he opens the tailgate because he’s helping
me. Again. there’s a few things
he'd like to tell me but he just smiles
and laughs with that trademark
incomplete grin
my dad’s fist made famous.