I am you
And you are me
My cool twin brother
For all to see
Same eyes, same hair
Same dazzling smile
Follow my lead
Copy my style

Get out there now
Break a thousand hearts
Woo them with words
And play it smart
Shed some tears
And wipe them dry
(Sensitivity counts)
Oh, what a guy!

Have your turn
At romance and fun
Lead the pack
Enjoy your run
But always remember
Whatever they say
You'll only be
As cool as me -
It's in OUR DNA!

Some attract with charm and looks
Some appeal with their love of books
Some ****** by spending frivolously
Most will choose Door Number Three

There was a poet named Nash
Who earned buckets of cash
From rhymes funny and brash
With a dollop of panache
His work was never slapdash
Always a top-drawer smash

this black and white photograph
was taken on a winter day
in south philadelphia...
two of us standing in a small lot
i'm three - she's four
brother & sister
struggling even then to make sense of who we are
where we are

the real war that surrounds our births -
world war II - is over
yet in our small childlike way
we worry about this other conflict -
this other war that wages and rages
within the walls
of our modest home
in a project

there are no smiles on our puzzled faces
our eyes are sad and anxious and lost
as we look straight ahead at the camera...

we are holding hands
in the afternoon light

it's clear we're weary and
not eager to return
to another day
in the combat zone

filled with necessities:
a revolver
razor blades
sleeping pills
poison
a rope
a map
notepaper
pen
cell phone
car keys

all useless
without some
false bravado

it's
time
to talk
about death now
one of my favorite
topics
the wonder of it
the finality
is there more to it
or do we become only
fodder for the crematorium
or do we fade
in the big dark box
leaving behind
whatever hair we have left
and our bones
brittle as they may become
what happens when we go there
are we reunited with family
do we sit down and have a chat
about old sunday dinners
and christmas get-togethers
and how much weight
aunt barbara put on
after she divorced that rug salesman
the one with the bad toupee
and who inherited
all that fancy china
from grandmother getz
how do we look when we're dead
- pasty and pathetic -
do we sag     do we gossip
do we bowl or play tennis
so much time
nothing but time
and not a clock to be found
and what about heaven and hell
all the time in the world now
to see what everything's about
i wonder if there's music up there
i think i'll look up my neighbor mark
the one who ran off with the brassiere model
i think that he knocked her up and they moved to florida
and then he had a stroke or something and died
but being dead might not be such a bad deal
after all
so many questions
all that time
and all we really want to know for sure is
is there life
after death
at least we'd find out
wouldn't we?