My Sister
I have a sister, that I call Jan,
although her formal name is Janice.
Which seems all the more fitting to me,
because it rhymes with the word menace.
And since this is a poem, where the words do rhyme.
It just happens, that I am in luck.
The description I preferred until I reached twelve,
is best described with the term "Yuck"!
For each day she delighted to twist my arm,
pull my hair or bend fingers backward.
She was stronger and tougher, I hate to admit,
educating me with the meaning of "little bastard"!
As we coexisted, I waited for the day,
when I grew and would exact my revenge.
At the ripe age of twelve, my moment arrived,
in the kitchen she became unhinged.
Standing at the sink, toiling at dishes,
my presence is what set her off.
Smacking me with a wet dish cloth.
"Why don't you just get lost!"
"I have the right to be here too."
"It's my kitchen, the same as yours!"
This time I reached out and caught the rag,
as she swung to drive me outdoors.
I was big as her now, and I curled up a fist,
preparing to knock off her head.
Then to my surprise, right out of a Dr. Suess book,
a miracle happened instead.
A tiny tear, appeared at one corner,
of long lashed, beautiful dark eye.
"Go on and get" was her message to me,
as she softly started to cry.
I gave back the cloth, and silently left,
in shock, and full of despair.
At that moment, the tides had all turned,
I suddenly started to care.
For the lovely young woman,
that now occupied, the person who was my enemy.
Over the next few months, we shared nothing but laughs,
our childish joys, filling all our memories.
I tell this story often, most hear in disbelief,
of this saintly Christian, that never does wrong.
I think of her sitting, on the old Victrola,
singing beautifully, her favorite songs.
Sometimes at night, at the dining room table,
as she spent hours doing homework.
She would ask for my help, to create a story,
I was no longer the little jerk.
We would die at the table, discussing the plot,
deceased of uncontrollable laughter.
I always felt proud, just to be a part,
of my precious sister's, exciting next chapter.
I gave her away, a blushing new bride,
a short time after her graduation.
She is a part of me now, the best of me now,
always my greatest inspiration.
although her formal name is Janice.
Which seems all the more fitting to me,
because it rhymes with the word menace.
And since this is a poem, where the words do rhyme.
It just happens, that I am in luck.
The description I preferred until I reached twelve,
is best described with the term "Yuck"!
For each day she delighted to twist my arm,
pull my hair or bend fingers backward.
She was stronger and tougher, I hate to admit,
educating me with the meaning of "little bastard"!
As we coexisted, I waited for the day,
when I grew and would exact my revenge.
At the ripe age of twelve, my moment arrived,
in the kitchen she became unhinged.
Standing at the sink, toiling at dishes,
my presence is what set her off.
Smacking me with a wet dish cloth.
"Why don't you just get lost!"
"I have the right to be here too."
"It's my kitchen, the same as yours!"
This time I reached out and caught the rag,
as she swung to drive me outdoors.
I was big as her now, and I curled up a fist,
preparing to knock off her head.
Then to my surprise, right out of a Dr. Suess book,
a miracle happened instead.
A tiny tear, appeared at one corner,
of long lashed, beautiful dark eye.
"Go on and get" was her message to me,
as she softly started to cry.
I gave back the cloth, and silently left,
in shock, and full of despair.
At that moment, the tides had all turned,
I suddenly started to care.
For the lovely young woman,
that now occupied, the person who was my enemy.
Over the next few months, we shared nothing but laughs,
our childish joys, filling all our memories.
I tell this story often, most hear in disbelief,
of this saintly Christian, that never does wrong.
I think of her sitting, on the old Victrola,
singing beautifully, her favorite songs.
Sometimes at night, at the dining room table,
as she spent hours doing homework.
She would ask for my help, to create a story,
I was no longer the little jerk.
We would die at the table, discussing the plot,
deceased of uncontrollable laughter.
I always felt proud, just to be a part,
of my precious sister's, exciting next chapter.
I gave her away, a blushing new bride,
a short time after her graduation.
She is a part of me now, the best of me now,
always my greatest inspiration.