I’m sorry that I broke your model plane?
You’d left it on the desk in your bedroom.
I snuck in there
while you were in the garden.

Thing is, Daddy paid you
to wash his car that morning
but said I was too small
to reach the windows.

I was jealous, fed up
with being the youngest,
you always a step ahead.
They even took you to The Mousetrap.

I remember the balsa wood
splingering over the desk,
the glue still sticky,
the tiny wheels falling on the carpet.