courtesy latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian,
sexagenarian, and Unitarian son
and modest mastermind maven maverick.

Another anniversary of her death occurs
upon advent of
May fourth two thousand and five,
not quite seventy years since her birth
November thirteenth nineteen thirty five,
nor fifty years
a married bride at age nineteen,
cuz back in dem days,
an unmarried woman
at twenty five would be
written off as a spinster.

Way back before
this baby boomer waz astute
countless decades before
aye became long in the tooth,
and also prior tomb ma mouth
sporting dentures to boot
fond memories rush
linkedin to moody blues
more than so far back
envisioning illusory wind blown steppes

(wait...this visage belongs to thine
long since deceased maternal grandfather
hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,
(now spelled Ukrainian version - Kyiv)
or some place thereabouts within the mind
of this prevaricating aging
"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot
preserved records,
(those times before cds or dvds)
and now rewinds tape

when family of origin
celebrated Xmas secular Harris
house style rendition of Magic Flute,
though genealogy steeped in Judaism
recollections abound of boyhood mirth
devoid of aforementioned rubric asper
orthodox and/or reformed
Judeo-Christian religion,
which essentially means,
I did not give or take a hoot

nonetheless cherish fond memories,
when ma late mum
relished making a hoo ha,
and got tickled and pickled pink
rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents
and jamming three knee high stockings
with healthy goodies such as fruit
cuz, as a devotee
of Carleton Fredericks,
she frowned on giving out sweets

particularly to three children she begat,
(myself and two sisters)
and iced hill easily
recall her poker faced
feigning complete ignorance and surprise
sheep played “dumb” as did father
convincingly not giving a hoot
puzzled asper neatly wrapped and
stacked gifts under decorated tree
while distorted reflections of stockings

fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws
in tandem of nostalgic magic
worth mo' than any amount of loot,
perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point moot,
when some jolly codger (papa)
dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit
and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,
whose canine barking,
cavorting, and dashing
haphazardly set them

on a direct rural route
to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree
cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated
equilibrium with irrepressible
escaped bursts of flatulence
(ah won't mention hoof from)
that emulated a toot.