As I approach my 100th birthday, I continue to enjoy writing poetry, mostly light-hearted and often with a surprise ending.


Trigger Warning

With frenzied haste, I
ripped off the Christmas wrapping
from a tiny box.

Could it be a ring?
Could he be telling me he
was in love with me?

I lifted the lid;
to my utter delight, I
saw a diamond ring.

But something was wrong.
Those were not my initials
etched inside the band.

It wasn’t my ring.
It was meant for my sister—
I misread the tag.

I found my own box;
to my utter disgust, it
held a Barbie doll.

How could he do this—
treating me like a small child?
I’m thirteen years old.

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