(To my brother with the briefcase)

Twenty-one,
now half your age,
I'm starting to understand.

Too close to see it at the time,
now a lot of miles
and a body of water between us,
something is realised.

In spite of insurmountable odds,
in some regards,
It Was A Very Good Year.

You gave me Tarantino,
tutored me in the rules of physics
(and how they applied when playing pool),
lessons in McMurphy's Law.

You performed a hundred minor miracles every day,
switched the sun on every morning.
You taught me how to survive the asylum,
and I did.

That was the important part.
Alles anders ist nur Meinung.

I may not be able to walk,
but I'll walk beside you,
as far as I can,
as long as you'll let me.



(There are probably only two people in the world who will have any idea what this is about. I'm one of them, but I'm in good company.)

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