Game Time

He trudged towards me

in too big a shoe and tee

he stopped next to my chair

and looked at my tinted hair.

It was in a spur of the moment

my character needed adornment

And with his black beetle eyes

and tiny lips still showing signs

of the meal he had a while ago

he frowned like it’s embargo.

Then with hands on his hips

and a stern look over specs​

“Stop playing and go for dinner!”

ordered my four-year-old brother.

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