'Where's my sandwich? I'm gonna tell.'
He whined and made a face. I smiled.
Little brothers are living hell.
I should have been an only child.
'Shut up or starve, That's how it goes.'
I glanced away. That's when he threw
A can of pepper up my nose.
I sneezed until my face was blue.
I came real close to fratricide.
But coolness was prevailed upon.
'Take your sandwich and go outside.'
The screen door slammed. My pain was gone.
Sandwich to go was what he got -
Peanut butter, jelly and snot.
Comments about this poem (Sneezing Matter by Ima Ryma )
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