Memories of my Brother

I decided I would challenge myself to write a poem for my brother every day this month and this is the result. It is rough and rugged and it is a mere work-in-progress but I'm just writing down stuff I want to say.


14. XIV

We had a game once that was never fun
That we called the backwards race
And you and I competed
To see who could crumple
Their snacks into milliseconds
And erode away the purpose of eating
By seeing who could come last
I'll never know quite why it happened
But we stopped as suddenly as we began
And perhaps it was because
Mum's face grew tight and fisted
When she heard the hairline fracture
Of all her cakes
Splitting down into shreds
And the neck-twitching mutation
Of a fork screaming against a plate
Or perhaps it was because
We grew up enough to see that
We never won anything other than wasted time
By clinching victory
But we stopped.
Half a life-time later
I could have sworn you were limbering up
Cramping yourself against another start line
Harried by the perverse backwardness
Of your thinking
To race time and food into negatives once more
Only this time
You weren't racing me
But yourself
And whenever I debated trying to mute
The trigger of the starting pistol
I kicked myself in the back of the knee
With the words that fed me
An excess of recycled lies
Boys don't get anorexia.

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