Stupid

Just another nostalgic poem I decided to share with all of you...

My brother had
A three-inch man
Made of orange plastic.
He had no brains
Inside his head;
Maybe that’s why
His name was “Stupid”.

His favorite pastime
Was jumping from heights:
The top bunk,
The top of the stairs,
Thirty feet up
In a tree my brother climbed;
But he rarely remembered
To wear his hanky parachute.
Guess that’s why
We called him “Stupid”.

And every time
My brother hatched a plan,
He had a go-to man:
A man not afraid
Of being a dog’s chew toy,
An erector set crash dummy,
The victim of backyard burial,
The ammo in a slingshot—
That man wasn’t smart enough
To be scared.
Suppose that’s why
He answered to “Stupid”.

I don’t really know
What became of him;
I don’t think he went
To boot camp
With my brother—
After all,
My brother’s name
Wasn’t “Stupid”.

But sometimes I wish
I could find him back
If only to see
What great ideas
My nephews
Would come up with
To try out
With “Stupid”.