Some stems stay near the base
Father, buys things
The mother and the brother yell at him
For buying things
The tree is sturdy but has mold
I lay near the bottom
Leave splatter the floor in slow motion
Where wind stings hurried face
He is always in a rush, father
He is always stressed
No one acknowledges it
Mother & brother say so many things
To try to make it better
For him
We all do our best
It’s hard to tell which of us is/are the black sheep
We all do our best
For him
To try to make it better
