My Sweet Baby Sister
I was about seven or eight.
My little sister not quite two.
For some reason the other four
in our family were out of the house.
Dad and I were charged to watch the baby.
Dad watched TV; I played in the back room.
I heard a shriek when Mom came home.
“Who’s supposed to be watching the baby!”
My little sister had climbed up on the table,
and opened a big bottle of syrup.
Covered in the sticky goo,
she was happily sucking her fingers.
Dad thought I was watching her
and I insisted it was Dad.
I suppose we were both responsible,
but it was Mom who cleaned up the mess.
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