I used to think it was the best kept secret
How could my younger brother be so insensitive?
Almost everybody was beginning to forget.
I wish there was no such a thing as that.
My cousin tried to teach me how to ride it,
Just after our late uncle’s funeral,
On a farm during the late eighties.
When I told him the story,
I wanted him to chuckle a bit.
My misery has become his swan song.
The nobodies call me by that name,
At least behind my back for now.
They are scared of me.
I wanted to be like other people,
I just watch men teach their kids how to ride.
I’ll never buy my son a cycle,
Not even a tricycle.
Visit Daniel at http://www.maelwedtshwn.blogspot.com/.