My Big Brother

Furled on the floor, behind the passenger seat,
I listen.
Down there with the tarnished wrappers and hair
I hear
Them say He’ll be on Fifty K
Within a year.


I shuffle soiled feet confined to newspaper
They bought
To keep the car clean,
And crane
To salvage morsels of their exchange.


The leather seat seeps a tang of new; I imprint my face
And think
He’s not worth it. Car shudders,
Clink: silver
Seatbelts shut. I rock in my mud.


When will I measure up?



18/04/00