Woodbury New Jersey Whetstone One

Woodbury, new jersey home to me self since birth my very late mother (bless her long departed soul)    slaved and toiled per accursed penury and dearth tried her darnedest to create happiness while on earth would be livid with rage at lack of neighbors’ manners    if spirit of said deceased  returned to this home and hearth so let this poem serve as springboard to communicate anger    for whatever this literary effort might be worth.   this aged body of mine creaky, nearly out of steam, and well nigh lost track of countless times auld lang cos sine and concomitant excitement    filled past and long distant childhood waiting for ole saint nick to careen down chimney flue lugging that humongous and bulging sack or going out hunting (when this area mostly woodlands)    awash with fauna and flora    and not unusual for pop to bring home a buck sporting many tiered rack caught in the cross hairs of firearms seemed like gendarme of the pack now, which memories flood my noggin,    akin to overflowing waters o the Merrimack especially disconcerting with hostility from youths politeness to lack spouting expletives with flip of the bird to us older folks who cough n hack    similar to staccato machine gun fire in terms of that barrage of flack