A poem I wrote recently about my brother Mickey.
My Brother the Savant
My brother was autistic
he could sing and play any piece on the piano
after only one hearing
With all the notes perfectly paced
but with the same beat
rock and roll or the Moonlight Sonata
all in swift allegro.
He found meaning in lyrics
and serenaded single women
into his fifties
when bent and stooped he could still stand
slightly straightened by the hope of marriage
to a “Good Christian woman”
Once at the Multnomah Falls gift shop in Oregon
he fell in instant love
with the twenties-something behind the counter.
After politely checking for her ring
and finding none
he stepped back and sang
“I Left My Thrill on Blueberry Hill”
while she reddened with a polite smile.
The line at the counter stopped in mid- stare,
removed for a moment by a spell
of innocence before they too
broke into a smile
and likely thought
him to be free from intellect.
But his mind was sharp
and Always truthful.
Besides serenades, he introduced himself to strangers
with state statistics.
“Hi, my name is Mickey and I’m from Kansas, the Jayhawk state, Meadowlark state,
Bison and Bee state, sunflower and cottonwood state.”
He knew the Kansas state song “Home on the Range”
all six verses.
“Where are you from?” He would ask with genuine interest.
And no matter what state they were from
he could recite the state animal, motto, bird, tree and flower.
He was an original
who never forgot the name of those he met no matter how many years ago
or the year make and model of any car.
He never forgot my birthday or anyone else’s
and sent a card when he had the money
Love!!! Your Brother!!!! Mickey!!!
Bold with many underlines.
He could tell you on what day of the week you were born
Even if it was a leap year