Thinking about Industry and my Brother John

I was thinking about industry while I rearranged my office, had the kids bring over an extra bed, cleaned out drawers and made space for my brother to come and live with us in New Zealand for three months to help our morale and just be with us after we've had two major earthquakes here in Christchurch, New Zealand within the last six months.  I wrote this poem for him:

My Brother John


My Brother John is coming on a big bird mechanical and complicit with its nature...

landing brilliantly, or so I hope

let fly before death by fire, hanging, slander, or natural disaster.

Like any other man, I am her, too.



Brother John brings cowboy boots, level, trough and all that implies

inside his own mind, not yours or mine, too, we can be duality when he leaves of course, as we

do, have and will be again.

And then, even when we don’t do, have and won’t be by choice, and then again by chance.



Will Brother John come to my rescue? You bet, he will and then he did in my mind before he

even came and went again. Intriguing me to realities of static, non-imaginary renderings off the

cuff, just to hear their refrain, it does not have to be in stone anymore my mason, but

if it be, let it be built by my Brother John--So Christchurch won’t fall down again.