She had her best sweater,
though youve never seen her worst,
it werent much better than her Tuesday best.
Though there was a good vibe about her wearing it.
a super life heat ecrusted,
a warp speed to her existence,
George Lucas signed 1977 star wars sweater.
Her colors are outrageous the grays and tans said.
I loved them myself, so thought they were off in their head.
The other kids loved Auntie’s slather of gorgeous hues too.
For blah beige-type colors we truly wanted to give a loud boo.
Auntie’s house was full of giggles, play, happiness and fun.
We loved everything about her, she had us nieces on the run.
Her décor was no more colorful than she was herself.
She designed every wall, window, pillow, and overhead shelf.
Her apartment house was shaped like a tall woman’s boot.
I could see why she chose to live there, it did in fact suit.
Her disposition, her opinions, her ideals and her attitude.
Being inside with her, reading, put me into a powerful mood.
Women power forever! My assertive, opinionate Aunt Bertie said.
She had the attitude of Rosie the Riveter firmly stashed in her head.
I inherited her apartment, although my name is not Francine, but Fred.
The only man to live here. With the women’s antics, my face is usually red.
Aunties Tomato Greenhouse
Walk up to the greenhouse,
Step inside the door,
There's a forest of tomato plants,
Wander around, have a look and explore.
Look left, then look right,
Then at the ceiling to the floor,
Surrounded by tomato plants,
There is tomatoes galore!
How did Aunty grow them?
Was it with lots of kindness and love?
And a watering can,
Like rain from the sky above.
Or did the fairy godmother (Aunty Phil)
Wave her magic wand?
And sprinkle a little magic,
That made them so big and strong!
Now step outside the greenhouse,
Take a tomato or two,
They are tasty and delicious,
And also good for you!
1/8/23
Elsie, Lucy, Olive, this small boy's remarkable old aunts.
Oh, how they rubbed their hands.
But with glee or sorrow? Or even anger?
Elsie had a strict-looking expression -
when not rubbing her hands.
Lucy wore spectacles that pinched her nose
and, oh, had such a thin smile -
when not rubbing her hands.
Olive seemed serious, often frowning at me -
when not rubbing her hands.
But when they were rubbing their hands
they were ridding those hands of
flour that helped to make a cake or of
flour that helped to make a Yorkshire pudding or of
flour that helped to make joy -
the joy of making that cake or that Yorkshire pudding;
or of spiteful expressions they might wear when sneering
at this small boy, who would have to eat
their cakes or their Yorkshire pudding, or absorb
their sneers - sneers that were also smiles.
We remember our aunts in
the most remarkable ways.
I was a small boy.
(April 2023)
(Elsie appears in two other poems: "Aunty Elsie's Bathroom" and "Coronation for a King")
I always wanted my auntie’s giraffe vase that held flowers.
It was given to me on a day where the sky filled with showers.
I brought him home and filled him up with posies fine.
Thrilled in every direction that he was finally and truly mine!
They value their antics
Not worth their aunties
An Aunties Wedding
There was an empty Players box
flattened beneath the dancers
a scent of receding tide on the quay
swept, green, slick as hair oil
bound by ginger sideburns
your dress shaped like a rocket to the moon
a wigwam to play in days before the day
I was five in a white wool suit
bony kneed refused to board her train
or travel the cold tiled floor
to her shining altar
I bet she never noticed the tramps outside the door
or your sisters child that day
now you are chatteringly old – still unhappy
I met you last Saturday
a little boy from nineteen sixty four
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