The Whistle
So here I sit, to write an epistle,
and propose a totally new kind of whistle.
A tweet to call back all the stuff that is gone,
Credit card, car keys, porcelain swan.
The old rubber duck, the one tennis sock,
The one rusty key that fits the old clock.
All the things that we had, now that are lost -
A 'boy wish I had that back' type riposte.
The sneaker lace aglet, and an earring back,
Serengeti shades, and much bric-a-brac.
A whistle perhaps only young cats can hear,
that causes our old, mislaid stuff to appear.
But what if the good old lost things aren't enough,
And we also get back all the bad and crude stuff?
The nasty note that I once threw away.
The rusty sixty Chevrolet.
The homely, scrawny guy that I dumped,
The crossword puzzle that had me stumped.
The things that I never wanted to see,
The speeding ticket and guilty plea.
The go-go boots and the poodle skirt,
A water gun that never would squirt.
The tunic that made me look like Moses,
The vase that came with the too late roses.
Guess I'd best just forget this whistle,
And put a swift end to this here epistle.
Toddy and Her Sisters
Do you have a family? I certainly do.
A Mommy, a Daddy and grandparents too.
Four aunts and some uncles, three lovely first cousins,
in-laws and outlaws and others in dozens.
But the three weirdest ones, and I swear that it's true,
Are my grandma called Toddy, Aunt Jan and Aunt Lou.
Although they are sisters, they're different as snowflakes.
Only one thing in common - they're all real fruitcakes.
Now Mommy and Daddy are really just fine.
Daddy is handsome and funny and kind.
Mommy is pretty and sweet as can be,
But Tod, Jan and Lou should all live in a tree.
Toddy is silly and wacky and wild.
Sometimes I'm the grandma. Sometimes she's the child.
She calls my Dad Beanpot and Booty and Bu,
Though just why she does it I haven't a clue.
She calls me her Chicken, her Skitchum, her Skeeter,
Princess and Kitten, Woofer and Tweeter.
Mom and Dad say she's just playing a game,
But I think she's nutso and weird all the same.
She won't call me Ellie, so what should I do?
Maybe carry a placard or get a tattoo?
Put my name on a sticker above my right eye?
If she sees it enough, then maybe she'll try!
Number two of the sisters is lazy Aunt Jan.
She lays in the sun, but's too lazy to tan.
She sleeps and she dreams then she shuffles around,
Sometimes until noon in her robe and night gown.
She carries a pillow wherever she goes,
Just in case, unexpectedly, she just has to doze.
Her horses are walkers, her cats without motion.
To quiet and peace she has total devotion.
Big soft gray fuzzies live under her bed.
Even her dog acts just like he's dead.
If she has to do dishes or shopping in town,
She sighs a great sigh and says 'let me lie down!'
Aunt Jan is so sleepy, but what can be done?
Put a mouse in her bed or bang on a drum?
Or maybe just shouting and laughing all day
Is the best thing to keep the Sandman away!
Unlike both her sister is busy Aunt Lou.
All day she has trillions of somethings to do.
She wiggles and squiggles and bounces off walls,
And talks on three phones while juggling four balls.
She runs here and there and this was and that,
She mops and she gardens and brushes the cat.
Meeting a lawyer, instructing a groom,
Washing her car and riding her broom.
Time is the one thing she always has not.
Everything that she does, she does at a trot.
Important or fleeting, gigantic or small,
She can't seem to rest 'til she's finished it all!
Though perhaps it's myself who's the weirdest of all.
'Cause I think they're funny; in fact they're a ball!
Just think when I'm tired and must take a nap,
The best place to be is in Aunt Jannie's lap.
And if I have something important to do,
I'll jump on my skateboard and catch up to Aunt Lou.
But when I feel silly and just want to clown,
I sure hope my grandmother Toddy's around.
I guess being different is really okay.
They all give out love in their own special way.
And a lot of that love will be coming to me,
Since I'm the much cherished pet of all three.
I'm impressed.
