My Stolen Plan
I must have been seven
Or eight, maybe nine.
My younger brother
Always had money
He was never broke
Even though he
Have a job or work.
He told me of
His plan for our
Mother. With his money
He planned to go
To the store for
A large bouquet
Of flowers for no
Reason, other than
He felt like it.
This cannot happen
I told myself.
If he succeeds
In his task for her
I will look like a
Fool. No longer
“the one” of us four
Children raised.
I stole his money
From his room and bought my
Own bouquet of flowers.
It would be me, I tell
You. Not my younger
Brother’s plan of gift.
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