(in the style of William Blake)
No, No Brother, I held your son
For you, for you were not to come.
The pumpkin grows along a vine,
He has your face and none of mine.
No Brother, No, we age apart;
As blossoms, watermelons start.
My joints aggrieved, your kidneys stone,
This life as death for us alone.
I ruined his songs. I made him laugh.
We suffer all this mirthless wrath.
These grapes as well spring from a vine;
We've drunk too long this bitter wine.
Your pride has kept you from my sight,
so it shall be in endless night.
Your only son has paid your debt
with fruit of absence and regret.
en route from San Francisco, CA to Charlotte, NC
November 6, 2013