My RAGE, with the degrees of a thousand Hiroshimas,
up and down the chords of my body.
Strummed by the unwarranted jab from
Like the swing of Babe, the jab is returned to
Our shuffling feet fight for the floor whilst our kiddish war cries pack the air until the entire expanse of a room is arrogated.
As our energy wears thin and the battle scars thicken,
claiming territory on our faces, the ropes between
us and time lo os en. We f a l t e r in our
swings, rage cools, and we
slow down to a
Days become weeks.
Weeks become months.
Months become years.
I become older. The jabs of my brother affect
me as does the breath of a woman upon a
leaf a thousand miles away.
Now, recognizing the callow attributes of that
My burning anger lies dormant,
signaling my growth.