Bbw And Canasta Poem by Ted Sheridan

Mom never went on tabloid talk shows
appearing in her underwear and cursing at our Dad
or any of his many 'Mousey' secretaries
Maybe because back then there was no 'Springer'
She would air our laundry on a clothesline
hung out to dry under blue cloudless skies
where fresh air would permeate a clean scent
into everything....no matter how conspicuous the odor
Sometimes she would get it out of her system
over a game of Canasta and mint juleps with the girls
where a more than adequate alibi for her betrayals
was the intoxicating gossip qualities of the crème de menthe.....
It was there.....hiding behind our living room sofa
where I first learned it was because of my silent nature
some of our neighbors thought I was retarded
retarded.... a perfectly appropriate word in the Fifties....
I thought about jumping out and shouting something
but that seemed even more retarded to me at the time
So I crouched there....sometimes behind the piano
which was about all I could do with a piano
that didn't involve heart and soul or chopsticks....
sometimes I'd hide behind Ms. Prichard's
most amble and intriguing Renaissance derrière
where a small parting of the drapes would fulfill
or soon dictate most of my adolescent fantasies
involving older women and adult alcoholic beverages....
Ahhhh.....what good times those were....
I was young and twice as smart as I am today.....
Now that I speak my mind.....


(2007)