February 11, 2010

Granny Groves' Annual Fall

There are some certainties in this world:
Granny Groves’ annual Yuletide timing,
For 3am stumbles (cardigan wrestling, hurled
To the floor by a lilac number, the lining

Catching on her wedding ring.) You will
Guarantee she was dressing for the wrong
Christian holiday, the calendar stuck in April,
And be sure she stayed there all night long,

Determined not to tug the EMERGENCY cord
And cause kerfuffle and fuss “just for her sake”,
My many Uncles cursing loudly on the ward,
“We’re paying good money for you to make

A bloody fuss!” You can put money on Dad’s
Uncharacteristic tuts down the phone,
His urban habits making his brother mad,
“You’d really pay that much for a home!?”

Just unthinkable to any of his country kin,
Who in reality are just jealous he’s the one
That moved on, and up, (and isn’t wearing thin
On top.) There are hardly any doubts that come

Teatime, Mum will join in the tutting too,
Say something daft like “think her mind’s going...”
And life will go on. Maybe out of the blue,
A car crash on the M5, we clear dishes, unknowing

How big a difference a quick, painless phone call
To the garage, for new brakes, could have on fate.
My faith will be in Granny Groves’ annual fall,
For all other twists and turns we’ll have to wait.



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