The Gift Of Fire Poem by Percy Dovetonsils

You really know how to hurt a guy.
In my family
that’s what a brother’s for
as I understand it,
as you’ve
taught me.

Father dead, Mother dying,
you,
fraudulently,
claimed to be
trustee
of the estate.
Now that you had 2 points of leverage,
Mom’s financial present,
my financial future,
you started all over
where you had left off
when we were kids

making a hash
of what should have been
my future cash.
You vaporized Mom’s annuity
dribbled away the house sale money
lost track of the Citibank account
finally,
for a finale,
delighted by
my hue and cry,
let the equities roll over the Niagara
of Black September
as blithely as though
they were pocket change,

all the while holding me at arm’s length
with doubletalk and false apologies
exploiting the last vestiges of my trust,
cunningly putting me off,
until the whole careful edifice
of father’s estate
was laid waste.

Kudos.
You’ve found a way to dig up Dad
and kill him again.
-As if the brain tumor
hadn’t been enough.
You’ve succeeded in killing us all
one way or another
and you won’t have to spend a day
in stir.



At your great reveal
you acted as if
8 years of mayhem
was an inexplicable accident
which somehow happened
while you were otherwise engaged.
You turned your confession
into a pity party
for yourself,
fretting,
while your wife held your hand,
that this
which you had not meant to do
would undo everything good you had done,
and cost you your brother.

It took me months,
dumbkopf that I am,
to realize that you had engineered
the whole thing
in spite of yourself,
despite the million it cost you.
Apparently,
to finally be rid of me
was worth every penny.

How your hatred
for all of us
must have burned in your breast
all these years.
how you must have nurtured
that hot coal,
while it fueled you and warmed you
in the darkness
where
you’d never share,
or air
it
until the time was right,
until you were entrusted
with something massive
and flammable
something worthy of this
your hidden gift.