Sibling Rivalry

Me and my brother once fought over stew,
He claimed the last biscuit–I knew it weren’t true.
We split the barn straight down the grain,
He got the saddle, I got the pain.
He painted my tractor bright neon pink,
I replaced his chaw with bubblegum ink.
He told Ma I kissed Bessie the cow,
So I fed his boots to the plow.
We raced on pigs, we fenced with brooms,
Turned Thanksgiving dinner into courtroom doom.
He told the preacher I swore at a hen,
I told the sheriff he stole eggs again.
One time he sold my bed for hay,
I auctioned his bedroll on eBay.
Now we’re grown with kids and wives,
Still keep score with pocketknives.
He’ll show up late and drink my beer,
I’ll “accidentally” brand his rear.
But blood’s still blood, and mud’s still mud,
He’d save me from a rising flood.
And when Pa dies, we’ll both pretend,
That neither of us started this feud to begin.

Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)