Eau de Toilette
My father nicknamed you “imp” for a reason.
You may be able to bench press me,
I may be more dramatic and prissy at times (it’s called PMS),
My bicep width may be the understudy of your fattest finger,
You may know that Louis the 9th was sainted in 1297, but
I haven’t even finished seventh grade.
My birth order is no reason to pinch me purple,
You know that cousins are supposed to be congenial.
I’m always accused of your shenanigans—
the hidden wallet, the “lost” necklace…
My sister even knows that you’re to blame.
You think Grandpa doesn’t notice you kicking me
under the table at dinnertime prayers when
I’m the one getting in trouble for the stifled giggles.
But he does. And your mother knows who
started the cousin fight last weekend at the lake.
I think that it’s about time to turn things around.
That toothbrush you just used—
it was rinsed in the toilet.
