MY BROTHER

 

My brother doesn’t write poetry.

All he does is worry

about his business.

And his money.

And make life gruff

for all of us he loves

His children, his wife

My children, and me.

Tho’ he’s not too difficult

For buried there deep

beneath  a  well–hidden soul

and his barnacles galore                                                     

is a kind-hearted man

who will come to your rescue

provided you ask

more than ten days before.

He’ll loan you a quid

Or even a few hundred

And for the kids

It need never come back

The help  is free,

Slow to emerge

And in need of checking,

But there, always there.

Written in 2002