Poem About a Story

My brother is telling a story, 

something loud and exaggerated 

about encounters with past women 

passed on after late nights at the Boar’s Head:

She had too many bibles, he says - 

then she told me she loved me - 

she told me she was vegan - 

What was I supposed to do?

I am laughing, not just at the story, 

but at the way his hair grows taller 

with every new white lie, the way

he holds his cigarette too much like a joint - 

he can’t help but give himself up. 

I like the ease of nonsense, 

the comfort of what doesn’t matter, 

the throwaway moments that keep us

from getting too close to the things 

we both carry. 

Eventually, he chuckles and sighs his way 

to a stop, threatens to let the world back in,

and between gasps I hear myself plead, tell it again, 

oh, please won't you tell it again.