Oh Brother My brother,
I don’t speak to him
with him
or of him.
No Regret.
We are not like souls.
He lives across the hallway
I only see him over the dinner table,
in passing,
or when he knocks on my door
enters my room
with his 13 year old friends just oozing with
…ugh… popularity.
Self-conscious assholes
Obsessed with their own coolness,
Budding with the insecurity inherent in
their place within
the social hierarchy of adolescence,
Brimming with images instilled
in them by
Corporate America
bought from the strongholds of
Corporate America
with the money of their parents who work for
Corporate America.

They knock on my door
to take a sleeping bag
for their slumber party.
Exuding extroversion,
singing self-righteousness,
wrapped in brand-name cloth of sweatshops
topped by Hair
tightly-knit
briefly-trimmed
impeccably-woven
painstakingly gelled, combed, and produced.

I bring the door open,
preferring vibes of
introspective mystery
willingness to share and understand
wearing only solid black
and yarn necklaces of faded woodchips hanging from my neck
and upon my head,
waves of long golden hair,
long,
growing
giving
living
free of
ometiculous tending to by
combs tearing and gels sticking.

I am weird.
They are too cool.
to be.
cool.
a quest.
that some.
find in themselves
and some in the whims of somebody else;
peers, or powerful moneyed forces.

They ask, before they leave,
how was the film festival?
that I just returned home from.

I say, it was good stuff,
and feel their snickers, but continue speaking
in my rolling, easy-going manner
to mention three of the films that I especially liked.
And they’re laughing inside;
how weird it is to attend a film festival
why do something… intellectual
or artsy
or old
or uncool
when you can be
a social butterfly
and go fix your hair
dance with hot girls
or play videogames with others of your ascended kind.

One says,
hey Richard, i like your music.
I’m listening to Hendrix
Purple haze, yo,
and I don’t know
if he’s kidding,
making fun
that I’m listening to something other than what’s on
MTV or whichever
or if he’s maybe actually serious.
Who knows.
I just say, “thanks man”.

Then, calling attention to his
shirtlessness
he flexes
and asks if I like his pectorals.
Of course they can barely restrain their laughter now.
They think my brother’s cool,
but what’s up with
that weird-ass
crazy-ass
faggot-ass brother of his?
He’s not cool, must be a loser
must be gay.
Of course, they’ll all say
(if asked)
they have nothing wrong with
homosexuality
(they just think it’s NASTY!)
they have nothing against
gay people
(they just don’t want them
coming onto them
or being anywhere near them
or showing themselves in any way.)

I just laugh
my laugh
eyes in slits
head thrown back
mouth,
laughing
I do this often
instinctively
for there is much in this world
to laugh at.

I send them on their way,
and lock the door.