Old Pictures

by Len Kuntz

This is the tribe
stationed around the gold sofa
on a Sunday in June.
The sun is an interloper
showing off smears in the picture window behind us,
glaring like a chemist, winking so wise.
My brothers have put down their fists for the time being.
You cannot tell from the photo but it smells like antiseptic.
The refrigerator rattles and chuffs.
Our salt and pepper dog whines a few feet away.
The frames of the house hold us in,
an entire family together
just this once,
some of us destined for gory pursuits,
the rest hatching plans for escape.