So, I had T-minus 20 minutes until I had to leave for Zumba class, so I said, hey, I’ll write a poem. When I ask my little, not-so-little brother what I should write about, he responds, ME.
Here is a poem about me—I mean, him.
My Brother, a poem
My brother dear, is often close,
so close I hear him snore;
and when he sleeps,
sometimes I’ll creep
quite ghost-like by his door.
And when he screams,
he’ll think it dreams,
but rest no longer well
because my goal, as sister old
is to give my brother hell.
NOTE: I do not really try to scare him. We’ve just been watching a lot of Supernatural.