Relative Strangers
Dave Seter

In Riverdale, Illinois, relatives
seemed to come out
of the brickwork
into our bungalow holidays--

relative strangers--
just passing through
and rarely seen in summer,
their RVs following
the migratory path
from Minnesota to Arizona and back.

Relative strangers of the lit cigarettes
turned our living room
to dusk and smoke, reminding me
of Gary, Indiana, a city of steel
and sulfurous air.

Mainly what we saw from the freeway
was a maze of pipes and refractory columns,
but I’m sure people lived in bungalows
in Gary, too, were even happy there,
money in the bank,
a baby on the way,

​a new generation of relatives
to grace the world’s living rooms,
seasonally, such is the comfort of the holidays,
when we belong, even if
the belonging is
a little relative,
a little strange.