If The Heavens Were Fair
It’s nearly time for your medication.
I’m drinking my seventh cup of tea
and thinking how much better you’ve been
since the start of the new regime.
That sounds like you’re sick,
or a political beast, not merely slow
and easily distracted; the worst
combination of tortoise and hare.
If the heavens were fair
your sister wouldn’t grasp
the lion’s share of love and loom bands
you’re teaching her to manipulate.
You should be less free
with your expertise.
But today’s sky is huge and blue to bursting,
you’re not such a freak
with your hair cut short;
the end of year report opines
you’re beginning to recognise
the difference between truth and fiction.
I know you’re only kidding.