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Personal politics.
The family only ever really met at funerals.
Everyone seemed to be married.
They would make their feelings known
about life and especially death
to anyone that would listen.
"How are you keeping?"
"Not well you know, not well."
Moan groan complain and blame.
"Shant be long till it"s me."
I shall never forget my uncle Bills
send off.
Great Gran was eighty two if a day.
Twenty years in front of the poor deceased.
His widow aunty Myrtle was particularly
good at the moaning groaning
complaining and blaming department.
All through the day
in actual fact.
Even while eating sausage rolls
and ham sandwiches.
Enough was enough.
Great Gran just met her steely eyed.
Sank her with that look and said.
"If you feel that dead,
then at least lie down,
instead of lying up."
"It does nothing for your features."
Oh, the mustard was nippy too.
