Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Poetry Project, day 1

My brother and I share
the same cadence of voice
when we complain.

When I lament the
maddening morons I meet
driving on our dirt roads,

and when he comes home
late at night and tells our
parents of his art class anxiety,

we sound just the same.

The same rise and fall,
the same storytelling voice
when the story annoys us.

We are very different, in
most ways, but when the
world crosses us, you'd hear it.

Made of the same stuff,
from the same people,
but you'd never know,

 until we get mad.


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