Dismal Hallow

I step outside the shower, look down,
fresh hot coffee, with cream, a mug. Brother
of mine taking care of me in spite of
the husband who critiques my parking job
of the moss green Jeep Cherokee.
“It’ll grow on you,” says the salesman
at the dealership who sold him
the car everyone wanted. A frenzy in
The Hallow, brought about by the one who
single-handedly created the demand, had
to have whatever he wanted, in this place
I was a part of, my Dismal Swamp of a life.
Not my brother though, he left this life, a
choice he made, left this life in the Hallow.

What are you looking for?