The Other Ides of March

March nineteenth hangs over my house
with the damp underbelly of a darkening cloud
It cloaks my brother in a helmet 
blinding him
while we see its tendrils spread 

We're used to our habitat after four long years in the subdivision
Four gerbils plucked out of the woods
onto the wheel 
Resenting the locked doors of teenage mind palaces

One long year brewing hatred of open floorplans
and internet failures 
Leaving our only distraction the 
pundits spinning silk from my father's tinny radio

They got my brother some gadget 
to make up for the mechanical invasion
Tendon to tendon, bone to bone 
Making the body
its own bandage 

At this point
we know each other incidentally
Crossing paths in midnight halls and 
chipper greeting card messages 
are all I'm qualified to offer 

On March nineteenth
the water will pour before abating
I'll drown in my dryness and
For a week
we'll be upgraded to hospital-house