Writing Brother

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Image by Annie Spratt from Pixabay

It was you and I,

Then;

That summer

I took $100

And bought a Sears electric typewriter,

A brother in disguise, and

You, a manual one;

it was a Brother, too.

 

Oh, who would think that plastic

And rubber

And fresh-painted steel

Could be so romantic?

 

If Hemingway had napkins,

We had Brothers;

You and me hugging

The table,

Our brothers, and

The coffee machine.

 

We wrote that summer, though we were just boys;

I, a novella, of kids running away

From adults,

And you, a boy running away

From life.

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