My brother knows my CD collection
and still looks at it bizarrely.

My father knows I write poetry
but still thinks I like Pam Ayres.

My mother knows my shirt size
but has enough sense to avoid my shoes.

My sister knows I love her little son
but not when he screams.

One day, he'll read this
and say I don't believe you wrote this.

And I'll answer with a wide smile
neither do I,
neither do I.