two-minute poetry

A Sister for Ian

When I was seven, Mum brought home a sister
to play with after school, she wasn’t
even one yet; really small, so if I sat
still and was good I could hold her gently
and she smelled like milk and biscuits.
If I behaved down the shops, I could push her
in the pram home, she liked to rock, the gurgles
stopped when she sleeps, sometimes a whole day!
Sometimes I was allowed to push her
'round the garden in the summer while
she napped and I liked this best of all.
One day a robber jumped out and hit me
over the head and stole my sister away
so I chased him down the road and shot him.
I told my mum after, and she was pleased.


*
Inspired by Poetry Thursday : Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire!

hmm, as far as I'm aware this is the first documented lie I ever told. It caused gentle consternation for my teacher, Miss Padmore, but an accompanying illustration (wax crayon on paper) was neat enough to award me a blue star!

all lost now, alas. I've tried to capture the wording of the original as best I can without venturing too far into 'curious incident' territory but, you know, memory and the ravages of time play tricks on the mind - it's as faithful as I can get it to be.