My Little Brother

A poem.

My Little Brother marches by
in the hallway
or maybe it's not marching
more like dancing
and he's singing
in a high-pitched voice
the lyrics
he's made up:
"Little puppy,
little puppy,
little puppy"
except he's pronouncing it
as what sounds like "widow puppy"
and in his arms, cuddled,
is a kitten;
the funny thing
about all of this is
we don't own any cats.
Ron Riekki

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