Mom never went on tabloid talk shows <br />appearing in her underwear and cursing at our Dad <br />or any of his many 'Mousey' secretaries <br />Maybe because back then there was no 'Springer' <br />She would air our laundry on a clothesline <br />hung out to dry under blue cloudless skies <br />where fresh air would permeate a clean scent <br />into everything....no matter how conspicuous the odor <br />Sometimes she would get it out of her system <br />over a game of Canasta and mint juleps with the girls <br />where a more than adequate alibi for her betrayals <br />was the intoxicating gossip qualities of the crème de menthe..... <br />It was there.....hiding behind our living room sofa <br />where I first learned it was because of my silent nature <br />some of our neighbors thought I was retarded <br />retarded.... a perfectly appropriate word in the Fifties.... <br />I thought about jumping out and shouting something <br />but that seemed even more retarded to me at the time <br />So I crouched there....sometimes behind the piano <br />which was about all I could do with a piano <br />that didn't involve heart and soul or chopsticks.... <br />sometimes I'd hide behind Ms. Prichard's <br />most amble and intriguing Renaissance derrière <br />where a small parting of the drapes would fulfill <br />or soon dictate most of my adolescent fantasies <br />involving older women and adult alcoholic beverages.... <br />Ahhhh.....what good times those were.... <br />I was young and twice as smart as I am today..... <br />Now that I speak my mind..... <br /> <br /> <br />(2007)<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bbw-and-canasta/
