"crocked" poems - Hello Poetry

The dead-bolts on the interior doors Against the nephews most securely locked (One is destructive; the other explores) Ignored by their mother (usually crocked) The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels And surgeries over the festive spread Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls Detailing each grim therapy and med The puppies are safely penned inside Because of an incident with a crowbar And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried - He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car His mother comforted him in his tears And glowered at me for telling him no And comforted herself with a few more beers Her special child is sensitive, you know The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy With lurid adjectives of graphic doom Comes with the pie and more iced tea His miseries circulate around the room Then from the living room an expensive crash “Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries An old family vase – it’s now just trash “You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs The brother-in-law offers to show his scars He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move We other men escape outside for cigars Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove One nephew leaps upon a garden seat And jumps and yells until it falls apart Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet “Are you all right, my dear little heart?” The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans And tells us all about his flatulence And just which foods lead to what moans (Perhaps he should practice some abstinence) The women come outside to cough and choke With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink It’s about his digestion (be surprised) And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think And we (got a match?) are properly chastised Then at the end of this mandatory day Of mandatory Hallmark merriment All of them finally go the (space) away And how did the mailbox get broken and bent? But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate “Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?” And so dear solitude again must wait While darkness slowly falls upon the hills

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Nov 21, 2018

Nov 21, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

A Good, Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving with the Family and the Relatives Who Just Won't Go Away

The dead-bolts on the interior doors Against the nephews most securely locked (One is destructive; the other explores) Ignored by their mother (usually crocked) The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels And surgeries over the festive spread Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls Detailing each grim therapy and med The puppies are safely penned inside Because of an incident with a crowbar And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried - He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car His mother comforted him in his tears And glowered at me for telling him no And comforted herself with a few more beers Her special child is sensitive, you know The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy With lurid adjectives of graphic doom Comes with the pie and more iced tea His miseries circulate around the room Then from the living room an expensive crash “Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries An old family vase – it’s now just trash “You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs The brother-in-law offers to show his scars He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move We other men escape outside for cigars Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove One nephew leaps upon a garden seat And jumps and yells until it falls apart Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet “Are you all right, my dear little heart?” The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans And tells us all about his flatulence And just which foods lead to what moans (Perhaps he should practice some abstinence) The women come outside to cough and choke With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink It’s about his digestion (be surprised) And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think And we (got a match?) are properly chastised Then at the end of this mandatory day Of mandatory Hallmark merriment All of them finally go the (space) away And how did the mailbox get broken and bent? But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate “Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?” And so dear solitude again must wait While darkness slowly falls upon the hills