Sixteen.
She flannels firmly to her neckline,
leans on the yellow sink and
mouths right into the glass,
drags at her dark, Durbin hair.

Brother.
A scarred Caesar nose,
a cold face.
He cuts and lifts, forks down
the whalemeat, tripe, brainstews.
Veins on his white forearm,
blue wool, knots.

Outside on the passage flags,
she dresses for the dance.
"Don't come out! Don't come out!"
Movements, scuffling,
soft rub and bump on the thin brown panels.