My Pre-Lunch Drink (In Memory Of My Brother) Poem by Robert Melliard

I've been cutting back a hedge for hours,
so now my pre-lunch drink seems well-deserved.

But with it comes, for no clear reason,
the sharp remembrance of your face,
hung round with greying curls;
your eyes, a brighter blue than most,
in contrast to a suntanned skin.

And I recall those last few days
when rationality was helpless, logic lost,
and monsters surfaced from some ocean bed,
previously un-sounded.

And so I live and re-live,
locked in constant rewind,
your final, desperate floundering,
before absurd, unnecessary death.