Squabbles between siblings seem to be a common thread in every family I know, no matter how well bred. Pillow fights might escalate into something more— slapping and hair-pulling and rolling on the floor.
Age nourishes the problem with petty jealousy. Nothing like a boy to end a sister’s loyalty! Squabbles over borrowed clothes—a stain or a ripped hem, hormones, insecurities and problems strictly femme.
Cruel labels given: “sloppy, slutty, fat,” exacerbate the problem by giving tit for tat. All the sisters of our friends seem to be so swell. Why is it that we had to draw the sister straight from Hell?
At what point does the shift occur? When do the battles end? What turns a sparring sister into a girl’s best friend? Nieces and nephews help by turning sisters into aunties. Bonding over choosing pretty dresses, frilly panties.
What is it in a baby that tends to heal old wrongs? Memories of stories from our past? Those re-remembered songs? Old squabbles once forgotten make way for fonder thought— giving thanks at last for the sisters that we’ve got.
Droplets on the window screen are caught, each in its trap— a wire cage suspending them inches from my lap. Your silkscreen propped against the wall, only half completed. My heart, once full, now emptying, each moment more depleted. You’ve vanished with your waxes. Our nuptial pledge seems over. Your true nature reassumed, once more you are a rover. This half-empty silkscreen your only good-bye letter, my father’s warnings fill my mind. I should have known you better.
After the dance, we walked the streets all the long night through, moving to a doorstep to avoid the cleaning crew. You let me rabbit on about every silly thing, then made your wordless statement as the morning birds took wing. Lifting through the rising sun, they faded into mist, unaffected by the fact that I had just been kissed. Then you restored my fallen hat, my scattered keys and purse, that morning without equal in my young universe.
Like a rabbit in its burrow, you hide yourself away. Do you frolic in the nighttime and obscure yourself all day? How can you be so opposite of all the world’s routine? What is it you are doing that you are so rarely seen?
I’d buy you an alarm clock if you think that it would aid your efforts to return yourself to the daily parade. My offer is not insincere. I’ll do what I must do to try to spend some daylight hours with the likes of you!
This gratuitous violence that you insist is dancing insures that there will definitely be no further prancing.
I don’t intend to be the victim of your future trodding.
My toes can’t take another night of your infernal plodding.
If you must sashay, my dear, I think it would be fine
if you took a few lessons to insure that you will shine
when next you ask a girl to dance, lest your skills depreciate
to a level where the least of us will not appreciate
your extended hand out to ask us for a dance.
I’m afraid not one of us is willing now to chance
damage to her Manolos, let alone her toes.
We’ll simply have to get along with more accomplished beaus.
So with most loving intentions, we’ve all chipped in to buy
a coupon for dance lessons for our favorite clumsy guy.
We hope that you will take it in the way that it’s intended,
and that you won’t be angry, downhearted or offended.
Please accept these lessons, dear. After just a few
instead of asking us to dance, we’ll be asking you!
Shoppers are in a quandary. They’ll put up with no delay.
We advertised new bargains available today.
They’re seeking phony purses from Dior and Michael Kors.
Noses against the windows, they’re beating at the doors.
But they’ve delayed our shipments and we don’t know what to do.
The faces of the ladies first in line are turning blue.
The advertising blitz we did turned out to be foolhardy.
Our Chanels are stuck in customs, our Hermès bags are tardy.
We have the fire hoses ready. We’ll use them if we must.
The ladies’ love of Fendi has turned into a lust.
If purses were religion they would be the most confessory.
There is no other obsession like the one for an accessory!
This real Hermès just sold for two million dollars at auction!!! Has the world gone crazy? It is the second most expensive handbag in the world.
Want to see the most expensive handbag in the world? Go HERE.
His insidious preening as he eyes each teenage guest makes me want to gather them in a protective nest, to spread my wings to cover them and tell them to take care. To go home and do homework and fiddle with their hair. I want them safe away from this producer’s leering glance. Away from all they’ll forfeit to try to get their chance.
For all the favors he hands out, with his other hand he reaps, consuming all the sweet young things as though they were just Peeps!