Second-hand I

I am told you
Slept at my brother's house
With your pregnant
Wife.

It was me who sold you
And paid a price for my
Trade - I dreamed that she
Could have been me.

I could tell you many things
Now I am older -
As I write this nine years on
Your presence ghosts my pen.

And I am told you
Have been to Jerusalem
Spending your money.
And Egypt.

They must make a change
From hardware hum and closed
Windows, your own desert place
Of hot skies and modern dust.

I wonder if your
Gold Card was acceptable
At the pyramids.  Or did the
Bones of the dead rise up

Against you?  And did you gaze
On painted tablets, give
Votive offerings enough
To barter forgiveness?

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