“Happy Birthday Biggest Brother!!!”

George Daniel Corcoran, the Third
Three times the fun
Trice
Even your middle name is different from the rest of us
Your yaniqueness is what I love most about you
George “Bucky” Daniel Corcoran, Sr., or “Once”, was a carpenter by trade
Passed when Chelsea, who calls you “Pickle”, was the only one made
From your littlest brother’s perspective the oldest male of the bunch
You were the first boy to love the second of your Earthly title, let’s call that Junior “Twice” since that guy was so good with nicknames
You, Trice, loved Twice, both can be perceived as black sheeps of their siblings
Like the Minor Threat art, out of step with the world, you just don’t seem to fit in with the crowd
It’s got to be alienating, you like your music loud and/or robotic and danceable
You took me to your friend’s art studio In NYC once upon a time and there was photography of The Ramones on the walls
Which in turn opened me up to their world, the stoogey poplike raw power simplicity of it all
You make me laugh, deeply
Your friend Phil said, “It’s funny to see you’re normal” at which point you quipped without missing a beat with a laugh and a smile, “He thinks you’re normal”
As your younger brother I will always look up to you
The way you showed me on Jerry Day day a better way to frame that picture of the squashed watermelon under the car
You inherited that strong artistic side from Mom too
Your jewelry, tattoos, still can’t believe you have a dragon tattooed right on the side of your head
You make synthesizers sing
I listened to you once jam on the phone when you were living in Brooklyn
Ripping off Dr. Seuss and those jazz cats here, and yeah it may sound corny, but you were cookin’!
In San Francisco of course you knew all the spots
Showed me Vietnamese sandwiches for my first time
Then you and Pac-Man led me to reasonably priced gourmet pizza
You always were just so different, have to imagine it’s lonely at the top, marching to the beat of your own drum
Reptile lover, our gentle Stepfather Jim poured out a garbage can of baby snakes you were raising
BMX enthusiast, falling down the basement steps in the old house arm breaking
Worrying about this nostalgia trip shit
Know that dopamine goes off, enjoy the hit
Grandma and Grandpa, those words as symbols should be enough
Containing worlds of memories
“You dopey bastard”
“Geooorge”
Can you hear Grandma singing that?
George, I love you, admire you, and thank you and God for putting you in my life