Ninety-Eight Year Old Cousin Alice And Her Photo Collection
"Kids used to the shake 'em down with their bats,"
Alice says, eying the dense apple tree.
She grinds her chair when one slaps the grass,
"My Herb liked 'em but they was potatoes to me."
"Here's a picture of him and Georgy mid-woof–
you can tell Herb's sicker cause the suit's too big,
and Georgy's tail's limp cause she fell off the roof.
Guess she thought she could fly since she sure could swim!"
Alice's old skin pleats a smirk 'til she spies
one of a plank-mouthed woman in a pansied shawl.
"My Mamma," she peeps, floating her left hand to her thigh,
and stares at her rightscabbed, twitching and balled.
She sighs at the next, "Myrtle sunnin' on the lawn.
Yeah she loved her who-dunnits. That's my Mamma. She's gone."