Purple nightmare

I forgot to remember-
Blackened light all around
People, they gathered
None made a sound

When I wanted to speak
You stood your ground
You asked we all stand-
Your mask made you proud

You, there with your purple-
They drooped as you stood
I couldn’t bare to watch
When they loosened and would-

Spilling as you walked
It sickened to see
None could believe
What they’d forgotten to see

Bar Stool Happenings

I sat at the bar. My mug was full of beer. The man to my left talked of politics and the three men to my right talk of the bartender. When she turned to pour a beer they said, under their breath, that she had a nice ass and her chest was large. My beer was good. The man to my left wanted to tell me about the kids in school. He said that kids no longer received the education he did and that the country would die. The three men to my right talked of her tits. My beer was in front of me. Then, the man to my left told me about his father. His father was there, on D-Day, and he knew. The men on my right wanted to know if the bartender realized her chest was large. My beer was empty.

Debate or Die

You and I were sitting in the back. We were debating. We didn’t realize it at the time that others called it arguing. Our father called it arguing. It’s unfortunate because I believe they were of the best debates. I wish they weren’t cut short. While riding in the backseat I would click the ashtray open and closed. Our father told us, ‘You can only open that a certain amount of times. It will break. You will be at fault for breaking it.” I brushed his words off and watched you talk. You are my big brother. I can’t always keep up with your thinking, but I try. I don’t agree with you on the dirt, but who cares. If it’s baseball, or dirt, we need to destroy the backseat of our fathers vehicle to understand. I now find myself looking for debates of any kind. Men and women seem to shrink from individual thought. I recall reading a paragraph in the book Travels with Charlie where Steinbeck is upset with his fellow country-men for not having opinions. I now think to myself,  ‘Why the hell do people complain when we do?’  I know this- My brother helped to sharpen my mind. To this day I can call him and debate over football, the crisis in West Africa, how children are being educated, Heaven, why many people forget to see themselves, life. He’ll continue on with a passion most can’t keep up with. He’ll leave me wondering, ‘How did I?’ Chris continues to sharpen my mind. We shared the same bedroom. He created worlds with words as bedtime stories. He’s shared this gift with many. His children don’t yet realize- they’ve won the envy.