by Sharon HammadI used to love to go to school;
It was my favourite thing,
Except for plunging in a pool
Or soaring on a swing.
But everything has changed this year.
I’m feeling rather blue.
I fear that trouble will appear
Before the day is through.
My baby sister’s grown a small
Bit trying, as a rule.
It’s irritating to recall
She’s starting at my school!
My mother hardly shed a tear
When I first waved goodbye.
I might have even heard her cheer
Then sniff as if to cry.
And now my sister’s turn has come
To venture from the nest,
You’d think my mum would welcome some
Uninterrupted rest.
Instead, the tears flow down Mum’s face.
She moans, ‘My chick has flown.
The house will be an empty place
While I am all alone.’
I want to shout, Please get a grip.
You don’t need to complain.
I’d offer her this handy tip:
It’s me who’ll bear the strain.
Who wants a little sister bound
To nag and aggravate?
I bet she’ll follow me around
As if she’s my best mate.
What if she wants to swap her lunch,
Her apple for my pear?
I’ll tell her, ‘No way. Thanks a bunch,
I do not wish toshare.’
And if I’m playing basketball,
She cannot join my team.
It’s her choice if she wants to bawl,
Throw tantrums, kick or scream.
Too bad if she should skin her knee
And blood spurts everywhere.
Then let the teacher go and see;
I’m sure that I won’t care.
So if a bully treats her mean,
Says nasty things all day,
The principal should intervene.
I’m staying well away.
Oh, here she comes, all dressed up in
Her uniform to show.
Her face is sunshine with a grin,
Excited eyes aglow.
She’s filled her backpack to the top
With books from off her shelf.
I wonder should I help her ─ Stop!
She’ll carry it herself.
No matter if Mum gives me hugs
And tells me I’m so strong,
I’ll answer her with don’t-care shrugs
And tell her that she’s wrong.
Well, I’m not reconsidering
Though sis is kind of sweet.
At least I haven’t had to bring
Her shoes or touch her feet.
It’s time to go. We’re at the door;
She calls to me to wait.
Her bag lies lumpy on the floor
But I won’t hesitate.
And then… I turn and walk straight back.
Her smile warms up my spine.
I shoulder up her heavy pack
And take her hand in mine.
Sharon Hammad lives in the Blue Mountains. She writes short stories and poems for adults and children. For more information, visit Sharon's website.
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