Silent films in my head, out-takes of scenes

stored in archives.

There's my older brother. I was his shadow,

followed him wherever he went,

even watched him read on the pot.

Not yet able to say his name Stan,

I'd run after him pleading "Wait for me Ham."

Sharing a bed, pillow fights left me smothered

gasping for air. I thought I would die for sure.

Mechanically inclined he loved rummaging

in boxes of old tools, bolts and screws.

You could tell from his eyes these things

belonged in his hands.

He got absorbed in hardware stores.

Once, me tagging along, shoved me away

with his usual refrain: "Stop bothering me"

doomed me to walk home with a load in my pants.

I was a nuisance playing and breaking

his erector set, crystal radio and microscope slides.

He'd throw me out of his room punching me

day after day till I couldn't wait to grow up

and get even.

One day after school he got in a fight,

kids circled around whooping for blood

which soon spurted from his nose.

I found myself screaming the loudest of all,

could not bear to see him get hurt.

I knew then how much I loved him,

purged at that moment of thoughts of revenge.

Seven decades later I'm still rooting for him

as he wrestles with an adversary

growing wildly inside of his head.