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I bring a card with stitched-on, tactile dinosaur
saying three today in twenty point comic sans.
Before torn paper and red cake
my brother shows me around like an estate agent
talking in a written-down way: due to instead of because,
all euphemism and platitude.
It’s a language on loan and he seems glad to have it
after months on mute. I do what he wants:
praise the sterile new rooms of his house,
remembering how he sledgehammered them dead