My Brother's Room Poem by Joshua Bantum

I remember our cramped room,
me and my brother’s
we’d “share” it
but he was older,
so
his music played
at the volume of his choosing,
his posters hung like
tapestries growing old
turning ancient.

It cluttered in a choking
way, no foot room to walk within,
hidden paths lay under
dirty cloths
like dry discolored leaves
covering sidewalks
In Spring and summer the most,
it smelt of boys sprouting to men.

He was always in there,
so I never was.

Now I notice my room
the same,
but with all of
him
striped from it.

Bare blank walls shiver at dawn
unappreciated,
white and naked.
I have no cloths to cover
my trail
and there is no scent.

A ghost lives in my room,
and he drinks a lot.
In fact
that is all that lingers,
remains of the bottles,
remains of the ghost
writing.

And now that my brother is never there
To share, to help me stare
At the walls,
I try so hard not to be either,

I’ve never had a room,
I’ve only had a Brother.