Nursery - Poem by Ian Bowen
My third eldest sister Susan
still sells sea shells from her
small shop in a sea side town;
where fishermen waft by
in yellow, thigh-high leggins.
Jack, my second eldest brother
constantly places his girating thumb
into the financial pies of commerce
and when he finds a real plum deal
he is the first to pat himself on the back.
Tom, my youngest brother
sings for his supper
in the glittering halls
of Vegas and beyond.
Well, I now live in a cupboard.
Much better than living in
an overcrowded shoe...
my Mother not knowing what to do.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
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