Michael Lushington

FOR MY BROTHER

Poem,

The Three Musketeers
Photo by Michael Lushington

For my brother:
Plastic, glue, cotton for exhaust,
Painted with every detail
They float above me as I lay
In my big brother’s room.
Impossibly beautiful,
Every aircraft there ever was,
Unthinkably perfect.
How could this much skill, detail
And precision be just down the hall?
How had he done this?
I want to do this.
Of course I can’t,
It is a gift born of imagination, will and intent.
In college he brings home
Impossibly beautiful things,
Jewelry, drawings, sculpture,
Yet, he just looks like my brother.
Hands forged from work.
He once threatened to bounce me on my head
If I persisted in doing what little brother’s do
So I did and he did too.
A real self-made man
Not so familiar these days,
I will learn to play bass
Because the spirit of rock and roll moves me
Like nothing else.
He took me for a bike ride once,
The day after I’d run 13 miles.
We rode 50 miles thru the rolling hills
Of the Northern California Coast
And when I was short on calories,
And a bit apoplectic,
He grimaced knowing I was gassed
And then we rode on.
That’s what love is.