Antkowiaks are like Oranges or Poem for Morgan

The youngest girl, my Morgan Rae,
Near Eight and blonde and bright.
Her reckless teeth brighten my day,
They flash all bent and white.

Her older sister, fourteen now,
Both beautiful and tall.
And even if my dad allows
I’ll kill the first to call.

Her brother Bran is big and mean
So says one who might dare
But if you pass this grizzly sheen
You find a teddy bear

My mother, goddess of the home,
Both love and grace supplies.
A mighty woman she alone
Cooked food for Bran and I.

Our father kind, the patriarch,
Would bounce me on his knee.
One day I learned his past was dark;
He’d rocked on MTV.

That leaves just me, the second son
No better and no worse,
I did what none thought could be done
Antkowiak in verse.