Youngest
As the oldest child, I got to choose
Before my other sibs.
From where to sit or what to do,
I was awarded dibs.
The fact of being older meant
I had a certain clout
That might have caused resentment
But was always straightened out.
My younger grandchild, though, believes
Her status holds the keys
To open every door she can
Which “youngest” guarantees.
She doesn’t think it’s fair the order
Of her brother’s birth
Allows him any privileges,
But then, for what it’s worth,
If “oldest” has no value,
“Youngest” has to be the same.
Too bad there is no middle child
Around to fan the flame.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2023
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