MY BROTHERS

I walk like I’ve always walked.
But they tease me with 
“Un meneo de las caderas.” 
A jiggle of the hips.
I’m sure they say worse 
behind my back.

My mother is corralling them
for church.
They protest but there’s no way
they won’t be going.
I suck in my stomach
for the benefit of the mirror.
Their complaints
versus my worries about my shape. 
I really do feel 
the oldest by a mile.

But we all march single-file to service
down the rutted path 
past chickens and goats 
in the best clothes we possess.
I take up the rear.
Do I jiggle?
If it’s natural, I accept it.
But my complicity 
is another matter.