why I avoid family reunions

cousin Appleby – rotten to the core

miss Beastly – terrible boar

Dexter’s missing – presumedably dead

Hedonista – everything goes right to her head

loopy Lorraine – lasciviously lunar lupine

sir Serialkiller  — sends chills down one’s spine

mysterious Michael — holds malice towards none

great-uncle Blunderbuss – has a great huge gun

jolly Juliet – the jasmine pool jumper

tribal Trump – the podium thumper

feral Frederick – the un-freedom fighter

Oloriel special guest – none politer

zippy Zelda – zealous zealot

Pastor Peter – prattling prelate

wacky Wendy – weedy “where ya been last Wednesday”

yattering Yuri – too many Soviet secrets given away

vane Violet – loves her image, violence and film noir

courageous Captain Cody – well, has a gun and a car

rickety Richard – likes Riki massage

intoxicated Imogene – likes full un-dressage

Odd Q-tip determined to clean up rear ends

Old Xerox – refuses, stud to the end

And as always,

Kimie and Ursula left to clean up the clamber, the noise, the exuberance, the mis-placed desires, the zydeco dancing, the roman candle spires, the quarrels, the kiss-offs, the too long embraces, the zephyrs that show no moral decency in the frenzy. And since the innocent age of 10, I have been forced to attend. These unholy reunions of relatives creepy, of whom, of course, I care deeply. But this is the year, I swear, I shall re-une elsewhere. So if kissable cousin Kimie can see her way clear, to let unctuous Ursula pour the beer, then I, dear reader, am damn outta of here. To Edward Gorey’s Family Gathering we go. Should prove a much better show.


Sorta an Abecedarian for Mindlovemisery’s Writing Prompt November 13, 2016. {My apologies to Mr. Gorey.}

image: blog.cloth.com


 © Lorraine & her frilly freudian slip