Bill's head informed him his brother was dead.
Bill liked his brother, but relished the prospect
Of combining their comic collections,
Of sleeping in the big downstairs bedroom,
Of receiving the full inheritance,
instead of half.

There would be some sacrifices, of course.

June 12 would bring fewer birthday parties,
Bill could never call himself the 'favorite son'�.
Bill's heart lurched as each car screamed up the hill,
But failed to deliver his brother.
His thoughts couldn't bring about a boy's death,
could they?

Like a cosmic jinx
(you owe me a Coke)
or ironic hindsight jokes
(your last words to him were what?).

Outside, a car door slammed.
The evil part of Bill's head cursed.
But at least Bill could think of some better last words.

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