my brother the gondolier

Kerrin P. Sharpe

there is a dark bridge
the midst of rats

a woman waits
at the swollen doorway
with the history of floods

my brother pushes
the gondola home
together they paint
side chapels

he has always believed
the honesty box
and sells tomatoes
at the gate

sometimes his faith is red
sometimes his gondola agrees
the sound of water
betrays the canal

and no one goes home