She fretted from the day she heard, <br />he could make time to come again, <br />for Christmas, what a joy, oh my <br />the cupboards are a mess, there's dust <br />and funny odours have besieged the drapes, <br />don't get the no-frill stuff, it must be real, <br />brand name like windex, that will do. <br />The filthy carpet, it's those dogs of course, <br />they'll need a hydrobath the day before. <br />Perhaps the early morning hours, four to five <br />would let her weed and pluck the stubborn clover <br />from the front lawn, he'll spot the holes for sure! <br />'It is your son', he said, 'he'll like it as it is', <br />'you'll run yourself and all the kids to ragged town.' <br />She did agree but pointed out that he would fly <br />first class, all pampered in the kangaroo with wings <br />and surely would expect at least five stars. <br />New sheets, two feather pillows, fix the door, <br />that stupid stopper has come loose just like last year. <br />He waited for his meals, for weeks on end, <br />while preaching calm and common sense to deafened ears. <br /> <br />There was that new Merlot, they'd marked it down, <br />his cabinet exhibited the logic of old age, <br />Potato Vodka, just reserves, stood left, in front, <br />(acute supplies were always frozen cold and stiff) , <br />then there stood Gordon, yellow label and his Jack, <br />Stolichnaya and Uncle Jaegermeister, all in green, <br />so that should cover it, though who could know about <br />the changing tastes of growing sons from USA, <br />perhaps the beer, from dark Paulaner to Vee Bee, <br />James Boag, even Kilkenny's, Cooper's Ale, <br />would be found lacking, he must think to be prepared. <br />And, for the bloomin' life of Riley, cannot understand <br />how she will fret for days on end. No, that's not me.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-favourite-visitor/
