Growing up

And things I tried to mimic

Things I passed by

And things I remember

Oh, my sister of mine…

The binoculars you often

Wore at dinner thinking no one

Could see you, yet you could

Magnify them…

The field glasses were made

By cupping your hands

Around your eyes…

We always knew who bothered

You that day as you focused

Your gaze..,

And then dad would ask

What one of us did wrong

As this was also your funny

Way of tattling on each

One of us..

Was it your insecurities

That caused this habit which

You carried on for years

Or was it your way of righting

Wrongs by getting us to

Tell on ourselves with your

Intense scrutiny at dinner…

Your friend I remember

From those days on B street

Was Alice Crutch…

She came for you every morning

To walk to school

And every morning she

Waited as you were never ready…

I don’t remember you being

Overly fond of Rusty

In my mind you felt the only way

To keep your piano ivories pure

Ivory

Was to keep your hands clean

And would always scrub them

Bloody to keep them clean…

A OCD trait you picked up

From mom…

I was a Tom boy and my hands

Were the color of what ever

I got into that day. Thus the

Constant closed piano top, with

Books piled on top so you could

Hear me moving them and come

Running…

We shared a room from the time

I was out of a crib til you married

At 21…. It must have been a

Nightmare for you…

You being a neat freak and me

A messy kid…

Luckily we had twin beds

Til we moved and mom got us

A new bookcase head board full

Bed to share…

I loved it… but it just increased

Your nightmares…