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Eliot was younger than
            Me by two years and he
                        Was a year dead before
Ma had Lou and then
            Dewey a year after that.
                        Dew was born with gold
Hair and bright as a fat
            Clean potato and our
                        Father was very glad.
Lou caught a fever about
            A year or so ago and
                        She died of it and father
Has still not come back
            From the walk he went on
                        For several hours that
Night, though he sits
            Each morning at his
                        Cereal bowl plain enough.
The milk in his beard
            Very white and his eyes
                        Empty and cornflower blue.
Lou's room is still vacant.
            I have my own room
                        And Dewey sleeps in Eliot's
Though he sometimes comes to
            Mine in the night, his head
                        Afire white and blonde in
The darkness. He is
            A frail and beautiful
                        And lonely old kid.