For the second time

dark and five, no sleep.
Hear the son's sleeping across the room, deep relaxed breathing of an older child that does not snore.
yet.

No light.
Feel for the computer in the dark.
Down the corridor into the kitchen, the lights on.
Under the door, a crack, light seeping through.
The brother, vast and strong, asleep on the couch in front of the silenced television.


at the table, take some bread, some cheese, look at the machine, wonder at the confusion in the world.
wonder at the confusion in the mind.

The brother wakes in the next room, stumbles a few times, then into the kitchen, says "Good night", corrects to "Good morning" and off up to his official bed.
Fell asleep in front of the television set.

And after having read the news, back to bed.

And at nine, wake to a morning grey in it's misery, with rain pouring from the sky, steadily and without remit.

It is the first of April, and the usual untrue stories are exchanged, the one of the spot on the nose and the pink parrot at small bird feeder attached to the outside of the window with suction cups.
The small boys fall for the tall stories, and the brother wishes a good morning
For the second time.