Would be Seismic if We Could Get Along
his miscreant philosophy was easily seen that day
he held his wormwood tea in an irritating way
diffident cousins were totally intimidated by Jim
his duende charm sort of knocked them on their chin
I held great grandma’s zither in my non-musical lap
Jim’s sister trivial complaint about this was a bit of crap
the timbre of this instrument will amaze you, I said.
I said this without hesitation, feeling confident as Ned.
Ned is my gay cousin, who came dressed in red and teal.
He always says the funniest things, at every single meal.
It would be seismic if we relatives could all get along each time.
my grandpa, an erudite writer asked me if I know how to rhyme.
I am unsure why I put myself here, but they are my kin I guess.
Today I am here to honor, my recently deceased cousin Tess.
Aunt Cherie is cavil, complaining about straws that are yellow.
I roll my eyes and smile at my new date, a tolerant good fellow.
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