With our thumbs up in a howling wind,

my big brother and I hitched across

the GW Bridge in the winter of ’45

for a camping trip in a mountain of snow.

We hiked the Lemon Squeezer trail

all the way to Popolopen Lake,

carrying a portable Emerson radio

and lamb to be roasted on a spit,

with marzipan strawberries for desert.

With sauerkraut from the Pickle Shack

and enough booze for a hot rum toddy,

we gathered around a fire in the snow

and sang “99 bottles of beer on the wall”

until the night sky was saturated with stars.

When Henry Wallace lost the nomination,

my brother discovered love at Manumit.

He floated away in a hot air balloon,

landing in Pennington on the 4th

In and out of the garbage can, he found

Fritz Perl’s Gestalt therapy and a dental

degree. at Washington Square. The Air Force

made good use of him. We were in cahoots

for him to gallop down to the stage door

canteen and sweep a future wife off her feet.

After showing her the Whitney and Frick,

they headed for a Budapest honeymoon.

There was no turning back until

they went to Oaxaca, the Yucatan,

Galapagos and Michu Picchu.

He took photographs of faraway places,

until he slid down a slippery rock slope

and fell away into space.

All I could do was witness his fall.

of July.