We played “king of the hill”
on top of great snow mounds
with trashcan lids for shields
firing icy snowballs
broadside at unlucky heads.

When the weather opposed us
we fought “king of the bed”
pulling and pushing grapplers
off a mattress until we dented
the wooden floor with falls.

A game of constant conquest
to rightly subjugate
deserving fraternal foes
who cried then sulked and plotted
tomorrow’s rightful revenge.

It has taken time to unwind
a long invisible gauze
wrapped around my soul
to stop this savage game
for any reason, in any season.

 

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*Poet’s Notes:

I grew up with 10 brothers and 2 sisters. Interacted with too much of the former and not enough of the latter. 😉

A pic of the original draft is below. If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment (further) below.

Vengeance

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