by Donald Levering
Hunched over his putter in the living room,
my brother Gary used to offer proverbs.
The fate of your game depends on your choices of clubs.
He gave us lessons to redeem our swings,
caddied his own bag until he slipped a disc.
Character displays in the handicap you claim.
Before his mania had him flinging clubs,
he approached each green deep in meditation.
Less equals more in this match of nervosity.
Behind his Jaguar’s wheel he’d repeat to me,
When your 300 yard drive comes down in the rough
you discover your true lie.
Then came brain disease with its dog-legged judgment
and the mega-church man gaming for Gary’s estate,
carting him into dogmatism’s sand-trap.
You must offer your fortune to Christ’s Country Club.
We could tell that Gary’s cerebrum
was riddled with divots.
Sad to see my brother dying infidel to himself
before he’d reached the 18th green.
In a dream he returned to me
to preach the Hole-in-One.