My Brother, Tony

Sun, 08/04/2013 - 15:43 -- lgrubb

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My brother’s name is Tony,

And he often makes macaroni.

He really likes to eat;

He loves his favorite treats.

He often plays the alto sax,

He doesn’t like to play Slap Jack.

Sometimes I say he is not my brother,

But we look too much like each other.

He is interesting at times,

But he’s still a brother of mine.

He thinks he’s funny when he tells jokes,

But that doesn’t always work with my folks.

Sometimes we act like best friends,

Wishing these moments would never end.

Other times we’re at each other’s throats,

I wish we built sand castles and motes.

Sometimes I wish he didn’t exist,

When he’s not a favorite on my list.

We like to play lots and lots of games,

And we always think the other’s to blame.

We tease each other just for fun,

But the “war” has only just begun.

We spin around many times,

In the car that’s his and mine.

It’s only an awesome red Tercel,

Oh the adventures we have to tell.

Sometimes I pretend he isn’t there,

But he always knows I really care.

I’m lucky to have a brother like mine,

I can count on him almost anytime.

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