My brother was sitting on the
porch playing air guitar. His
ears recalling the hard rock of
AC/DC's Back in Black. I always
liked that song but would never
admit it to him.
He would think that he won, this
imaginary battle between metal
and new wave. I begged to differ
as I thought of Duran Duran posing
stylishly on a sailboat in the
caribbean.
They were busy drinking champagne
and eating caviar while his boys
were cavorting in sneakers with
oily hair.
But I couldn't turn away, forget
the power of drums and bass. The
in-your-face lyrics that came in
handy when you were pushed around.
Hands on the ground, trying to
stand up again.
As he finished strumming the last
chord, he looked at me and nodded.
I didn't have to say a word.
He already knew.
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