One time I wrote a poem about
my Mom and Dad. I let Dad read
it. He said he didn't like the imagery
and criticized the scansion. In my
poem my father was a briefcase
and my Mother was a hoover vacum
cleaner. They just sat there, in seperate
closets, and there were no words
between them.

My little brother is always making noise, running all over the
house with his damn weiner dog. Sometimes Mom gives me ten
bucks to make him shut up, and then I sit on his chest
and pull out his eyebrows. Whenever Dad sees us
fighting he takes us out and makes us buy a two-player
video game. I kick my little brothers ass at video games.

I tried to get Mom to read
the poem, but she was too busy
reading her new romance novel. So
I asked her for a new video game.
She said, no, and, besides, I was too
young to be writting poetry. She said
She'd give me 20 bucks for a stiff
Drink

My little brother is always
in my room and breaks all
my stuff. He cries cause he
can't eat his lollipop with his
helmet on, and cries if you
take it away. I usually kick
him out of my room and steal
his candy.

On the weekends Dad gets all
macho and tries to fix stuff.
He walks around and every time
he sees me he says, "Wheres my
assistant handyman?" and I say
"Playing videogames." Mom spends
all day cooking early dinner and
I get so damn bored all the time.

(C) 1998 Sarah Wichlacz and Shawn Rider