A Marmite Sandwich - Poem by Ruth Walters
Maggie always made me feel small,
she was always on the defence,
could never talk quietly.
She was the thistle in my side,
the carbuncle on my bottom,
the maggot in my crisp, Cox's apple.
I'd watch her bully her way through the day,
though I marvelled at her techniques
as I could never quell her and it rankled.
Next time, next time, I'd know just how to answer,
give as good as I got, tell her off,
but the next time I was as silly as the first.
Maggie always made me feel bad,
made me feel dull, ridiculous and stupid.
She was the Marmite sandwich
that was supposed to be jam
that your nasty aunt made you swallow
as it's rude to spit out.
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