I Knew His Older Brother

one monday morning
travelling by train
reading Robert Bolano’s
The Romantic Dogs
i thought of Him
it was the summer of
’75 or ’76
after 37 years
a year makes little
i knew his older brother
i remember a beautiful
saturday afternoon
working on the mule of a
Morris Minor
i was a young apprentice, then
eagar to learn
when news ran through the
my girlfriend told me
“Terry is dead”
i never heard the full story
only the rumour
a cocktail of alcohol and pills
choking on his own vomit
one friday night in summer
Fate and Dead had intervened
he didn’t see twenty
another life snuffed out
yet, His shadow lingered
His spirit refused to leave
for a while at least
until we filed His memory
archived His history
and we simply carried on
the paradox of being young

By Paolo Michell

About pmisteil

Hi, my name is Paul though I write under other names like, Thatcher and Paolo, I love literature, art and architecture their passion and drama....the contradictions. The notion of Truth-who is the person behind the mask? Or does it matter! I like long walks and longer conversations over cappuccinos in a cafe with atmosphere and the rest is a journey!
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