A Suicide Mission

Once I realised my brother had legitimate

reason to be unhappy and that I could not

help him, I went on a suicide mission, got

hold of a mountain of life-threatening onion

rings and unsavoury chips and stuffed me

like a sausage machine, feeling too sorry

for the innocent security guard to pawn it

off on him once I saw the grisly content of

the greasy box in which they arrived

Feeling much better for the effort at self–

immolation and a headache to obliterate

the heartache of accepting he is in dire

straits and beyond the help of a younger

sibling – I can do nothing for him, no word

or gesture of mine can bring back what he

has lost or turn back the clock - at least, I

did the next best thing, stopped my own

sorrow from escalating

According to a spiritual master we cannot

help someone by jumping into the sea while

they are drowning unless we bring a life-

jacket and can really swim well; I lack both

things – I can only conjure an image of him

prospering again, all that is needed, the guru

assures his readers; but singing while skipping

down the street as he also recommends is

not within my powers, I must confess