seeing your little brother
just outside Angkor Wat
wearing your father’s face
‘fracted through
a dented, busted
rear view
scooter mirror
peeling plastic husks
from Milky Way
Candy bars
Kalashnikov slung ‘round
his shoulder:
like friending Pol Pot
at a TGIF

waving his fist
a cheap hammer, like
he was
just an image, or a radio signal
to get through
in dust and time