day five

I shouldn't do this. It's not very nice, I know . . . but then, you'll probably never meet my aunt so it's not like I'm turning you against her or showing her up or anything. She could be anyone. In fact, she is anyone - one of droves and droves and droves of closet poets. Closet poets who should remain in their closet and not inflict the world with their "creative" flow. Yes, she paints, too - fingerpaints, I believe (I kid you not) on about the same level that she writes poetry (I'm guesstimating that to be about Grade 3). No, this is not the aunt with dementia - I just have a very bizarre (read: wacked out) family. Anyway, she's incredibly proud of what she produces, and loves to share it with the people around her - usually for some unwarranted fee. Ask Kelly, who was "presented" with one of the fingerpaintings - - and then the bill. She politely declined.

I got off easy. The first time I went to England (school) it was a pretty big deal for everyone in my family, none of which had ever 1. gone anywhere more foreign than Hawaii and 2. stepped foot in a university, at least for an actual degree. So in a fit of generosity she gave me a book of poems she had "published" (actually, printed - I think on her computer because not even a vanity press would stoop so low). It included a poem called To My Lovely Niece, Lorie-Anne [sic]. Anyway, it's bad but not as bad as Little Boston Bull, written in ode to my grandma's ugly, aggressive boston terrier, Ziggy - which is now (thanks be) dead and gone. I've picked this one today because, well, just read it. Sufficed to say, you'll never need drugs again - this little poem is a trip and a half, all on its own.

Little Boston Bull
By Iris Frickey

Says Ziggy to the piggy,
Are you friend or foe?
The piggy looks and he says -
I really do not know.
You look a bit like you belong in my family.
You snort and grunt the same way too.
Come in and do the things we do.
In mud we roll so happily,
Wallowing around for all to see.
If you wish to try it out,
And you don't mind your snout, -
Ziggy looked and he said -
Thanks, but I would rather
be in a nice warm bed.