The Hand-Me-Down

My brother’s telling the one about the lake,

the time I nearly drowned for heaven’s sake.

He’s got the timing down, the punchline tight,

making my terror the star of the night.

I’m sitting on a folding chair, too small,

watching my shadow shrink against the wall.

The table edge is level with my chin,

a wooden fence that won't let me in.

They laugh and toast to the boy I used to be,

while nobody bothers to look at me.