Home > Poetry > My brother’s friends

My brother’s friends


Cedric, plump, too high cholesterol,

forever close to a heart attack
a flourishing business man
with a manic depressive tinge
ups and downs along the lane of life
stuck in the same turbulent relationship
for as long as I know him
with a woman piercing his blood out of his veins
or rather her blood, because in a strange way
they are one and the same lunatic figure
always nervous always happy to see me
I hug him whenever we meet
though it might take years.

Simon, the lady-killer,
I never saw him twice with the same girlfriend,
Swedish, Spanish, Bulgarian,
‘Madamina, il catalogo è questo
Delle belle che amò il padron mio!’
Long and boyish
with wavy hair made to brush through with his right hand
‘Having something’ hard to resist
but hard to keep as well
I never saw him weeping
waves of girlfriends were his passion
not a single chick.
But a fine chap he is!

Wim, the weirdo, with jokes dry like a burlap
wooden with an eternal stub on his chin
teeth that reveal their whiteness just too late
pranks too funny to be made by a credible laggard
his friends bursting in laughter just before
the facts retire, his grin crowning the fun.
But he’s reliable like the price of gold!

And then there’s another one, another one
my brother told me, but Goddam, I can’t remember him!
I can’t remember his face nor his posture, his voice nor his smile
no doubt his laughter commingles nicely with that of the others
adds to the juice of their salvos ascending the clouds.
But who is he, who is he?

I hear them at barbeques, on grassfields, on courtyards,
remember the movement of their bodies, their white glittering teeth,
see them smiling with the preoccupations of their kids
that once engrossed themselves as youngsters
laughing salvos escaping their bodies over and over
as if the years didn’t count.

And yet, I stand outside,
listen to their fading laughter
view their song of gestures
on the horizon of my mind.

I’m moved by so much friendship.

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