IN A PICKLE
When we were kids,
my older sister bugged
me enough I removed
a whole sweet pickle
from the jar and placed
it between the sheets
of my sister’s bed
far enough down
so when she stretched
out her feet, they would
touch this cold, dead thing,
and she’d jerk her feet up
or better yet jump
out of bed; a scream or yelp
would have tickled my ears.
I laugh about it even now
fifty years later and wonder
if I can get away with it
again.