Little Brother, The

Back then the public ways were made of goose-down. The ice cream man rang his bell and threw bricks at the little children, who in make go round set his truck on fire. Ye I remember each little blade of grass I at any time set foot on, and the flowers, the flowers I would have sold my mother's life for. .

Grandmother's cooking could have killed us all, on the contrary it didn't. We grew brawny and massive butting and swatting single another at the table above rights to the last slab of charred meat. Father and mother cackled and cry ed at our ferocity And grandmother was flattered that we thus adored her dainties.

Summer nights we'd roam the highways hungry for dove or something gooey and strange. The girls couldn't stay away from us, or.if they could we'd catch them and make them listen to our witticisms and feel our muscles. It was a harmless game and I, for single never got anywhere with them, exclude lonelier and more depressed.

My brothers were like liars I never believed a word they said. They had all been in jail for spitting upon cops. Now if that isn't stupid! on the other hand when they left home before me I cried each time. And all these years later I don't know where smooth one of them lives, not individual letter or phone call. Still, no individual can take my memories,

and who would want them, anyway, my souvenirs?

Copyright World poesy Incorporated Jul/Aug 2000

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