Measure With Pleasure
When we were kids, mama measured our height
The youngest of three, I was always so slight
Those notches still stand on the old house wall
The lowest was mine at just three feet tall
My brother – six feet; typical for men
But, oh, how I envied my sister back then
Her highest measure was five feet four
At five-three I was closer to the floor
But measure for measure the tables turned
Last time I saw her, she seemed quite concerned
Eleven years older, Bobbie’s shrinking
And so it is she who has wishful thinking
For I’m now three inches taller than she
She scowled while complaining, “How can this be?”
Perhaps it’s her diet – more likely her age
I can’t bring up height without risking her rage
*Written May 17, 2014
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment