Camel ...

            The room was always dark

And, if there was dirt, you

Could never smell it (walls

and floors perfumed with

tobacco smoke and various

alcohols).

                 There was a wooden hat-rack

stand, always just beside

the swing of the screen door,

filled – and I mean full –

with turquoise Camel hats

(old Joe smiling).

                        And uncle Bill would always

give us one: one for Josh

And one for Ruth (to join

The ones we'd faded

back home, where I'm sure

mom was shaking her head).

                             He had a pool – blue & above-

ground too – and we'd

make it deep (for the cap-full

it was) and eat hot dogs,

filled with a vein of yellow

We'd call 'cheese!'

                               I remember those dogs;

loving them. I wouldn't

swallow one now. But I'd

let my kids (if I had some,

Nisse and Des, maybe)

take them in

                   in the back yard, by that

tree-swing for gone-kids,

and in the house let Des

take a taste of beer to

silently say “sorry”

for his name –

     Still I love Erasmus for the

hope (that he never drank

away when dreams made

his world seem heavy

and too slow – dragging

to get there).

          And “Des, just trust me,

you'll never meet your

uncle and stare up at the

the boar's head and touch

the dark traffic light in his

living room –

                   He doesn't have a living

room now. But he

has you and me – I someways

reminded your granddad of him –

and you remind me of … you like the taste?

Good. That's enough.”