Sleeping Low

My brother said he likes the mattress on the floor.

Close to the ground. Easier, he swore.

That's what he told me anyway.

I recognized the lie. I know

that way of living. The way you go

when you're not planning to stay.

There's a stain on one corner. Dark.

Could be anything. Don't ask. Don't remark.

There's no point in knowing.

The blankets are folded at the foot

like he gave up halfway. No use

in making a bed when you won't sleep here.

I sat on it. The mattress was soft

in the bad way. Like something had lost

its mind in the stuffing.

I didn't ask when he's leaving.

I didn't ask what he's believing.

We just sat there, close to the ground.