Will Vigar

A Writer of Sorts

Kevin

 

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Kevin sat in the corner,

quiet, out of place. He never

seemed quite comfortable in

the bosom of the family.

 

Always kept at arm’s length yet

the tension between elders

strong. Too young to understand,

they spat, hushed and venom laced.

 

I remember the mustard

rollneck tops, Hai Karate

and porn star ‘tache, receding

hair and twinkle in his eyes.

 

The understanding we had.

The implicit, unspoken

Camaraderie we shared.

He vanished. My Aunt was shamed

 

and angry. It took years

To piece together the barbs

and puffing chests at mentions

of his name and how the truth

 

came into pin sharp focus

when another uncle chased

him through the daily mail strewn

streets shouting something about

 

being seen

with another man.

 

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This entry was posted on June 19, 2016 by in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , .
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