I had a twin brother that I loathed and despised
even as a kid nothing that I owned would be mine.
He stole my entire comic collection, most the covers were ripped,
and nobody minded — until I took something of his.
Our mother would hiss at us “Why don’t you share!”
discoloured with tints of greying-white in her hair.
We would fight over chairs at the table, the cutlery used,
even sometimes just stupid shit like who was looking at who.
My brother would use every trick in the book
to pit me in trouble over things that he’d done.
If he was rumbled, golden boy got a slap on the wrist
but the minute I took revenge I got both barrels for it.
A double standard existed and to me it was blatant
he was the favourite, even though neither could say it.
We were related by blood yet he was no brother of mine
you couldn’t see from our faces, but we were nothing alike.
When we were younger we’d fight and he’d push me around
choosing to knuckle up while I focused on knuckling down.
They say bloods just about having the same anatomy
but means nothing without the loyalty that makes you family.
I hated having people compare me to him
were the same jackasses even aware that we’re twins!?
It’s like sharing a similar look was somewhat expected
but how dare I exist outside the shadow my brother projected.
I’d look the other direction whenever we crossed paths
and pretend that we’re not family to friends if I got asked.
I was never in contact with him, I was glad to be rid,
so imagine the grin I had hearing someone was marrying him!
I didn’t have to be invited, I’d have taken a flight,
all that mattered was simply ruining the best day of his life.
I knew the place and the time. It looked an expensive trip.
Even caught the name of his wife but I couldn’t remember it.
I booked in a residential hotel with a single star for my journey
as dark and as dirty as the plan I started rehearsing.
I wanted to hurt him harder than he had managed with me
planning to leave him torn to shreds like the comic annual he thieved.
There were incalculable reasons for me to hate him more
but this would actually be one he’d be right to blame me for.
I wake at quarter to seven. I knew he would too.
The two of us used to be like clockwork, every movement in-tune.
I work through our routine as kids, down to the extent of our socks,
you went with the one on the right foot first and always said I was wrong.
I then did the opposite, naturally, it’s hard-geared inside my brain
some people might have changed with time but you and me are wired the same.
I knew to leave at five to eight, and even where you would sit,
sharing a cigarette on your “morning jog” preparing for it.
I was there within minutes of you locking the door
your would-be wife unaware I exist as I step onto your porch.
I wanted to force both my sorry hands around your neck
but I opt for the door-knocker and grasp for that instead.
I bang the blackened lever against the wood-rotten debris
until she answers and questions if I’ve forgotten my keys.
I nod as she leads me indoors. It’s not a surprise
to see it’s as empty and hollow inside as it was in your eyes.
I saw items borrowed of mine you never returned
yet there I was with your wife hanging on my every word.
I press up her skirt from behind, my hands on her bountiful figure,
caressing her curves eager to take you out of the picture...