no one
sends her letters; she’s
the one they conveniently forget.
there’s just too much to do these days,

they’d say if she asked

why wasn’t I invited to the
barbeque reunion?
well, you live so far away
we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.
not that she’d ever ask.

I wonder if she’s the woman that
turns the lights off at halloween,
or the one that might hand out
condoms to the older kids,
you never know how
young they do it now; kids
these days.

she never liked kids;
maybe that’s part of it.
she didn’t even like kids when
she was a kid.
she was the one that read
homework, and worked and
hoarded money in a
indestructable piggy.
she didn’t buy
candy.

she eats
energy bars and
mcdonalds french fries, and
when she wants some
zest, she’ll order
chinese carry out.

she
shouts when she can
talk, and whispers
when she can shout;
I really don’t care whose aunt she is,
but somehow I almost
feel sad.

© Meg Eden, 2010

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