This is for the old brother... the seasoned brother... who made it (you made it baby) to have pretty much gone everywhere he had to go and did every thing he had to do for every body he had to do it for and now rises each day and shaves and dresses and dons his hat to gather down to the barbershop or general store or shade tree or park to play checkers or chess or bones or spades... tell tall tales and short lies... about how and when and with whom it was back then... but stops as i walk by and breathes deeply as if to enjoy a whiff of womanly me... and tips his hat and holds the door and smiles a smile that even now under the ravages of time and being black in america is still **** and kinda sweet.. while the others softly co-sign... "ump, ump UMP!" or "my, my, my.." or "Miss Butterworth!" and makes a well-rounded old girl like me smile her own kinda sweet smile.... and thats enuf this age old ritual is enuf somehow for now…