PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was only a mill-worker’s child--

No one of importance at all

She was the fair-haired daughter

Of a secretary and a supervisor

A rung above me on the ladder of life.

Her clothes were fashionable and frilly

While mine were simple and made from feed sacks.

A beautician in town cut her flowing tresses

While my mother trimmed mine with her dressmaking shears.

She was teacher’s pet in every grade of school.

I was the despised bane of Mrs. Spradling’s existence.

She took dance lessons and baton

And marched in parades with her father’s lodge buddies.

I put tinfoil on the rabbit-ears-antennae so I could watch American Bandstand,

And I never even SAW a parade much less marched in one.

She had a legion of hangers-on following her who emulated her precisely.

I was the example of “behavior to avoid in polite society” and nobody copied me.

She was a majorette, a cheerleader, a junior class queen.

I was a writer of winning essays who played the deformed dwarf in our three-act play.

She drew attention to herself with every endeavor.

I hid in the background and tried to disappear.

She married her college sweetheart and raised a daughter just like her.

I married the wrong man for me and raised three sons virtually alone.

She is the most dissatisfied person on the face of the earth.

I awake every morning awaiting the new dawn with anticipation.

She looks back sadly at the BEST years of her life.

I look ahead with expectancy at a future of happy participation.

She laments the opportunities that eluded her.

I thank God daily that I made it through the worst of times,

And NOW I BEGIN TO LIVE.