My Brother

My brother
He's a good writer
But he's unlikely to admit it over dinner

My brother
He's a driver to the core
And I think that he deserves a beemer
Much more than the next guy

Two-point-five, straight six and leather
Stereo and private weather
Twin-airbags, side-impact bars
And a sunroof to navigate home by the stars
We used to like to take a drive
Winding through the burgeois flowers
Up the road to the water-tower
And we could sit there for hours

Just taking it in
Just shooting the breeze
And committing all the views
To memory

My brother, he's a good writer
But he's modest to admit it
Though I'm unlikely to forget it

Watching planes go by
Looking down at cloudy skies
A few burritos and a side of fries
And sweet baby James
And I

And words are mightier than the sword
And eloquence bring just rewards
And these are our umbilical cords
The lines of birth
That keep us tied to the same earth

© br C (1997)