7200
That dormant feeling
of insecurity arose,
when travel journal
got thrust adjacent
to my tattered
(holey tattooed) clothes
while I knew with
crossed eyes
aroused anger
from peaceful doze
my younger sister
felt about her
globe trotting
exploits, an over expose
jour ever since
voyaging out on her own
after graduating
top of her class
where mine
hatred glows
indirectly snidely sneering
at ma dough less
brother hoboes
(a 1979 Methacton
High School alumni),
unanimously
chosen valedictorian
dressed in
Calvin Klein
Harris tweed, couture
and silk
panty hose
like me prolonging,
promoting
on par with quasi
staff sergeant,
who knows
artful disciplinarian
gingerly launching rules,
asper formerly
commanding
G.I. Joes
and pronouncing, predilection
exhaling natural
highs no lows
traveling solo,
with surviving Wilburys,
or just mows
zing nonchalantly
(though a foreigner)
with swarthy
skin color
easily camouflaging
as civilian
all points
on the compass,
where minute
needle doth nose
upon returning home
(being honorably feted
at once glorious
estate of Glen Elm,
where she
did propose
to the Lord Taylor
(swiftly), which location
situated at 324
Level Road, Collegeville,
Pennsylvania 19426),
thence a great
huzzah a rose
an immediate
nauseousness welled
within from me head
tummy smelly toes
I did not want
to here, or see
any details,
which would
accentuate personal woes
popping, snapping,
and smarting,
and slapping
skin raw tib bits,
ache'n to
yanked strings
of mama's
heirloom yo-yos!
Poet Script:
trials
and tribulations,
visited upon
head of young
concocted
("FAKE")
gusty and gutsy
kid sister
enterprising ingenue,
christened easy
on the tongue
Sharodd
(not her real name),
to top off
talents sung
like a professional
opera singer,
which rung
a shiver along
small hairs
of spine did tingle
heard all the way
to Lake Woebegone
where bachelor
farmers did mingle
every Christmas,
a decreasing
number donned
Kris Kringle
hit with blitzkrieg
of yawping brats
hoof pranced
to bell weather jingle!
