Oh, how bitter the taste
Of a younger brother’s betrayal.
I know it must speak of my indifference
To his pre-puberty learning pains.
I should have reflected upon
His inability to pull a slow-pitch
Softball to the left side,
Or his insistence on attending all his classes.
I know, only too well,
That the signs should have riveted my attention
On his silent pleas for guidance.
But I was too busy running my bookie business.
Too busy, what a weasly excuse
For not seeing that without my brotherly intervention
The poor lad was bound to end up in Harvard Law.
I still remember the epiphany and shame.
I wax tearful when I recalled our last conversation.
Oh, the dastardly deed. It cut to the quick.
On a scale of 5 he would not rate my writing
Higher than 3, unless… he was given last editing rights.
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