How Did He Do It?
It wasn’t easy being his sister,
For he seemed perfect in everyway.
He was a super athlete, personality plus,
And articulate in all he would say.
It seemed he could do no wrong,
And I believed he could walk on water.
He was the perfect son & I was far from,
The perfect daughter.
I don’t mean I was bad by any means,
But always found myself in a mess.
My parents loved the both of us the same,
One no more or no less.
It seems I was always in the right place,
But at the wrong time.
My brother however, left right before me,
He always turned out just fine.
I wondered how he always knew,
That trouble was coming his way.
He was never around when the dilemma came;
He already left to go play.
But there I always was right in the middle,
And an easy target to find.
How does he do it? Was what I would think,
As Dad was slapping my behind?
Usually, I didn’t care about that,
For my brother was a hero to me.
Most of the time it was all his idea,
But then he’d get up and just flee.
It took many years to figure him out,
But eventually I finally caught on.
He’d start the trouble, get out of the way,
& hand me the smoking gun.