Little Sister

I come from big brothers and no sisters

brothers who pushed me around

and brothers who pushed me on the swings.

From park teachers who wore whistles

to a mother who could whistle through her teeth

louder than my father could yell.

I am from "wait till your father gets home."

I come from Dick and Jane

duck and cover

Rinehart writing and modern math

hoola hoops and clackers

Gumby and the Ouija Board

crash tricycles in the basement

5 cent candy bars...BIG candy bars

and 50 cent matinees on Sunday afternoons.

 I come from phones that dialed

mail sent in envelopes

and television with only three stations –

from Saturday morning cartoons

with my brother Joey,

Big 3 Theater on rainy Saturday afternoons

and The Wonderful World of Disney

every Sunday night

(if I was a good girl at church that morning).

I come from

who took the cookie from the cookie jar

one potato, two potato

rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief

out goes

y, o, u!

by Elizabeth Thomas

Collaborative Poem in 2 voices

I am from a Dad who speaks with an Irish accent.

Mine speaks Jamaican.

My Dad played football.

Mine played cricket.

My Mom wore purple bleached pants and retro shirts.

My Mama swam in ponds and went on adventures.

My Dad loves to cook.

My Dad hates to cook.

At Christmas we eat lots of potatoes.

At Christmas we eat pig tails, pig’s feet and oxtail.

We both eat potato chips.

I am from breaking rules and getting grounded.

I am from spankings with the belt.

I am from nappy hair and corn rolls.

I am from spiked hair.

I’m from the sound of splashing water.

I’m from the crack of the baseball bat.

From scoring baskets.

From making touchdowns.

I hear woodpeckers in our chimney.

I hear barking dogs.

We both hear reggae.

When we grow up

we both will be kindergarten teachers.