Brothers at the Reunion

Brothers at the Reunion

The old men stood below the exit sign

laughing and cussing as though they were

in a well-lit bar—though they’d all

given up drink years before. They cussed

for the electricity of the words. Some, widowers

who hadn’t kissed a woman in years, stroked

the air with their hands. They didn’t touch

one another. The one holdout blew smoke

away from their privacy. They did not talk

of faith—these men whose father had been

a deacon—they disagreed. Instead they told

the old stories about creek beds and whippings

and snakes in mailboxes. And jokes featuring

viagra and gravity. Their laughter bound them,

that and a loss of faith in their bodies,

though desire hammered there still.