Christmas With Relatives
My happy Aunt Petootie
comes clomping over.
Your mother says you write poetry now.
Her eyebrows are angry.
Uh-huh. I admit.
She is in full glare mode now.
Why?
Because I like it?
Diabolical laugh.
Hey, Glitzy, get over here!
Guess what Miss Funny-Duddy just said?
I inch out of their circle of hilarity,
wondering why I had allowed
my mother to talk me
into staying an
extra five minutes.
Here in the deep heart
of all this Christmas
love and cheer?
Poetry huh?
It is Uncle Malc-wood.
Aunt Petootie's husband.
I know I am not supposed to like him.
He is an out-law, after all, married in.
I glance down at my hands, barely nod.
My trust window is rapidly closing.
I wish I was an alligator being eaten by a cheetah.
My windows are boarding themselves
up, I am ready to go!
A gentle touch on my roof brings
my house-eyes-self upwards.
Uncle Malc-wood says, "Good for you!"
I guess I could stay another ten minutes.
My TV shows are already recorded after all.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment