Brotherhood
We fought, we laughed,
we wrestled in play.
For years, on the very same bed
we lay.
Into the night, we'd whisper and quiver,
under twenty quilts, we'd shiver.
Mom would always tuck us in
then the freezing cold began.
By three AM, she'd soon arrive
To see if we were still alive.
We shared one bed. One closet,
one chest
On which our Hai Karate rest.
Then summer came with heat
and sweat.
Whose pillow was whose,
we'd often fret.
Heat so hot, we bathed the sheets.
A fly and gnat and mosquito feast.
A window fan blew nice hot air.
That wet and humid room
we'd share.
That 'antique' bed, it creaked and dipped.
Under crispy sheets we slipped.
Jokes were told; prayers were said.
Thankful at least to share a bed.
Thankful at least to have a bed.
Copyright © David Brooks | Year Posted 2016
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