June 9th, 2003



I need to get my entries off for the Nemerov sonnet competition. I found this today, in the back of a notebook - I think, polished, it'll be one of the ones I send.

Sonnet for My brother

Yeah, I fucked my brother. I took his toys,
his Halloween candy, anything that appealed
to me, took apart his Hotwheel to
build go-carts, took more toys. He'd yield
these things up gladly. When I had friends
over playing D&D, he'd act as butler,
fetch trays of soda, full of ice and desperation
for acceptance, entrance into this older world
that must have seemed more secure to him.
I tied him up one time, left him in a closet,
waited nearby to see how long he'd last.
Silence and more silence. On and on.
When I untied him, I said that he had passed
the ordeal, and went to loot his room anew.
We never sheltered in each other. Parental storms
scattered us, silent, trying to look tough.
We were the children of an alcoholic.
Love each other? We'd been fucked enough.