My Little Brother

My Little Brother

my first typewriter was called a

‘Little Brother’and I was ten

much better than a pen

I thought 
              that the poems looked real

typecast and not typecast

and putting the words down

clattered as if they mattered

to me they emptied my pockets 

to make room for more of the words

that were simmering on the back burner 

of the rain on the hobs of childhood

wait - stop

don’t smudge the ink with tears you silly old man