Along came twelve.
Most girls by then were well on their way to being women.
Greg and I took a different route,
Sharpening the first sparks and flints of manhood into something beastly
Only to be shared secretly between us.

He would come to the house every now and then,
Cheery Goodie dropping him off in her blue and VW Golf
And wishing us a good afternoon, carefully reminding in parting:
“Be good. Play nicely.”
I tried to – Greg had other plans.

With lunch done and SABC 2 re-runs boring us to another life,
We went to my room.
“We’re going to play a game,” the cutting voice told me.
“We’ll take turns – I’ll punch you, you then me,
But no happy family – winner takes glory.” I lost.

Adding proverbial insult to injury,
Lennon’s kin summoned me to the bathroom,
Myself being the esteemed guest to a ***** hair bonfire
Followed by a hard-on measurement contest.
Hugh Hefner outinched me on my own turf.

Who knows what you’re up to now, *******?
Last I heard, you went off to Rhodes
And got yourself an Honours degree in Finance and Economics.
Your marks and career prospects probably outshone mine –
Triple victory. But you didn’t have to be a **** about it.