About my brother Michael
He played tricks on me. He played tricks on our mother.
He even played tricks on the pets.
He put salt in my lemonade.
He put salt in my grilled cheese sandwich.
He would hide my dinner plate.
By the wide grin on his face.
I knew he was the culprit.
He shoved a huge safety pin through the
pages of my magazine, pinning the pages
together.
He would often hide behind a door.
Jumping out and yelling Boo!
He barricaded me in my bed by wrapping
a fortress of yarn around.
He would stick cotton swabs between the
pages of my books.
He would wake me up in the morning by
plunking the cat on my face. He would snap rubber bands at me.
He would throw pens at me while I was in bed.
Even though he is now grown.
He still chuckles with glee when he plays a trick
on me.
Now his girlfriend is more often the object of his teasing. I think his impish nature will never rest.
Even when he is old, he will still pull his little capers.
I asked him once when he was a child.
"Why do you pick at me?" He replied that it was fun to aggravate me. Perhaps someday he will have a child. A child with an impish nature. A child that will pull pranks on him.
Poetry by Amy Buchanan
Read 668 times
Written on 2006-12-01 at 05:09
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His Impish Nature
He played tricks on me. He played tricks on our mother.
He even played tricks on the pets.
He put salt in my lemonade.
He put salt in my grilled cheese sandwich.
He would hide my dinner plate.
By the wide grin on his face.
I knew he was the culprit.
He shoved a huge safety pin through the
pages of my magazine, pinning the pages
together.
He would often hide behind a door.
Jumping out and yelling Boo!
He barricaded me in my bed by wrapping
a fortress of yarn around.
He would stick cotton swabs between the
pages of my books.
He would wake me up in the morning by
plunking the cat on my face. He would snap rubber bands at me.
He would throw pens at me while I was in bed.
Even though he is now grown.
He still chuckles with glee when he plays a trick
on me.
Now his girlfriend is more often the object of his teasing. I think his impish nature will never rest.
Even when he is old, he will still pull his little capers.
I asked him once when he was a child.
"Why do you pick at me?" He replied that it was fun to aggravate me. Perhaps someday he will have a child. A child with an impish nature. A child that will pull pranks on him.
Poetry by Amy Buchanan
Read 668 times
Written on 2006-12-01 at 05:09
Tags Nature
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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