A Family Affair
Cumulus billowed on the horizon
She pleaded with her soft blue eyes
They were always as bluity blue
As the baby blue spring sky
Her teensy weensy voice crackled
She raised her Avon palms, "you can't!"
Smiling down with pearly whites
Wiped pudding remnants on my pants
Joyfully sunk my pink ladies' ax in the
Blonde bouffant she wore so well
And happily giggled at her bubblegum brains
Splattered on "#1 Dad" apron where he fell
"Well, Mom," my dainty whispers whirled
Through the barbecued family air
"Guess that's the last time he'll have to pay
For your poofed out beehive hair"
"I suppose you'll have keep your grabby hands
To yourself now, darling Mother
And dear old Dad can stop his nightly routine
Of fluffing up my little brother."