Because I love you and you are my sister,
I live to bother you.
You knew that was true, didn't you?
That one day, after I'd gone away,
somehow, we'd stay connected.
So I can play the role of the older sibling,
the one that teases the younger.
Despite the miles that stretch between,
clearly, the bothering ceases not.
Because this blog is it, sister.
It is the smirk that crosses my face,
the roll of my eyes,
the finger poking you in the ribs,
all done with words.
Carefully, I can speak in circles,
or throw out terms like subtrahend and minuend;
ask you to perform some addition in your head.
Or I can attempt to get literary on you,
just to make your day.
But I won't, because literary isn't my bag.
My striped fleece.
Yes, that striped fleece.
(Just because FRN inspires me, doesn't mean I am a poet. This has to be one of the least classy things I've written in a very long time. I think I prefer Melina's A Frog for Lunch.)