Smooth play, Ox
What does that even mean?
My brother often directed
These words
To me:
“Smooth play, ox.”
Did he mean ox long pips
Which may be smooth but
My backhand was not.
Black ox beetles were
Nocturnal while
I preferred sunshiny mornings.
We were two skinny kids.
Santana had yet to sing Smooth.
Smooth Play members weren’t
Twinkles in anyone’s eyes.
When he said these words,
I was never
Playing.
I had tripped
Or broken my arm
Falling as he pushed me on
Our money bar swing-set.
His mocking tone
Incensed me.
Finally, I’d had it.
Jutting my chin in the air
I stared down my nose at
The dunce.
“It just so happens
Oxen are not redheaded girls.
If I am a breed of cattle,
I am a proud Highland,
whose red coat
Is adorably fluffy!”
Well…
I wish I had said that
As I stared into his
Mischievous blue
Blue eyes.
About the Creator
Barbara Steinhauser
Thank you for taking time to read my stuff. I love writing almost as much as I love my people. I went back to college and earned an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults and often run on that storytelling track. Enjoy!
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Comments (1)
Now that's how standing up for one's self is to be done! Loved your poem!