He was clearly his father’s son.
The second (superior) joint
In the family cut of meat.
Same blue eyes
Same blonde hair
Thick with curls
Framing a face that made me grey at the edges.
He was wilful then
A lethal concoction of buthering unpredictability
Retaining the foul impatience of a small boy.
But I was helpless
And even then
I knew what it meant.
And what is was it would mean for me.