The Wizard of Loss

My mom did not mind
that you put me in a pool
in the kitchen. Everything
about this was giggle-inducing,
and you looked after me as yours.
I did not know you would ever
die, much less in six short
years.

You always were out of place,
the Dorothy of the Eldreds,
like the box of instant potatoes
on the folding table, or the fire
alarm that went off during
your funeral.

Your head
is cut off, but I would know
that bag of a body
anywhere
anytime.

Mom told me you died
once before you died the second
time. I wanted to ask
you about it, but I never
did. What was it like?
Did you know you would die
four weeks before Y2K?
You must have.
How could you not?

This is really a photograph
of you, despite my center
position. A quiet observer,
sucking on your cigarettes,
making crude jokes that I was too
young to understand. I laughed anyway,
because I loved you.

And despite everything,
I still do.