She starts but stares
before she finally tears
his posters down. The Dead,
and Kinnski, by the bed
next to Farrah. Kiss, Queen
shining through the paper sheen,
made-up cults of many boys
who identify with noise.
There goes Farrah’s hair.
Then gently, on his barbell, fall her glossy paper teeth,
ripped sloppily, but happening to form a smiling wreath.
Mom stops ripping, finds a tape dispenser, and repairs the face
and the other posters, too. She will make a sacred place
in a drawer, she decides, for all except the barbell
which, at the garage sale, she will sell
for cash, she'll insist, so that she can store
it in an envelope with all her son's posters in the drawer.