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is empty. Ghosts. That’s all. They smell
of old tobacco. Dribbled beer. Cheap
perfume. Detritus-caked dishes left
to molder in the kitchen sink. Trash.
I sneak into my dad’s bedroom, a thief
who has already cased the place. I know
where the spare change jar is kept beneath
the canvas liner in the clothes hamper.
Sometimes there’s more than change
in the jar, and this is one of those times.
Kortni’s tips have been good lately,
and without Dad’s bad habits to support,
she has squirreled away almost four
hundred dollars. I take a fistful, leave
the rest to help replace the clothes
I borrow. She’s a little bigger than me.
But baggy is better than nothing, and
nothing is what I have now. Two pairs
of jeans. A couple of sweatshirts.
A plaid flannel shirt. Underwear.
That’s the creepiest thing, but panties
are expensive. At least they’re clean.
I help myself to five pair, trying not to
think about what has worn them.
Finally I go to the kitchen, find paper
and a Sharpie, write a note: I am okay.
Have not been kidnapped. I had to
leave Fresno because Walter scared
me. Tell Shreeveport to keep an eye
on him. I had to borrow a few bucks
