Kiddish War Cries

My RAGE, with the degrees of a thousand Hiroshimas,

ERUPTS!

reverberates,

reverberates,

reverberates,

 up and down the chords of my body. 

Strummed by the unwarranted jab from

kid.

Like the swing of Babe, the jab is returned to

kid.

Our shuffling feet fight for the floor whilst our kiddish war cries pack the air until the entire expanse of a room is arrogated.

As our energy wears thin and the battle scars thicken,

claiming territory on our faces, the ropes between

us   and   time lo os en. We f a  l t e  r in our 

swings, rage cools, and we

 slow down to a 

complete

stop.

Days become weeks.

Weeks become months.

Months become years.

I become older. The jabs of my brother affect

me as does the breath of a woman upon a 

leaf                   a thousand miles away. 

Now, recognizing the callow attributes of that

once-then 

kid,

My burning anger lies dormant, 

signaling my growth.