Mike Bell/ January 14, 2017/ 0 comments

My three brothers are dead,
but two remain quite alive:
Here in my small town
they will never arrive;

both hunched back in Surrey,
they’ll not communicate,
much like our mother,
with her acidic berate:

I am, for forever,
the accidental one,
being that, her error,
she shuns her third son.


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