A Very, Selfish Inconsiderate Act ... OR... Who Are We To Judge?

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In the family it was certain

that Uncle Bill would draw 

his own curtain.

In the dictionary we kept up on the hill

next to the word Loneliness was

a picture of Uncle Bill.

Since kindergarten, he hadn't seen his kids–

by  ex-wife's decree. Since then, his life

was skewered on gilded skids.

His jokes were always funny

and he never was short of money

He had everything in his home

but his punch-out was not there: everything.

He punched out under his sister's wing.

Aunt Linda had to clean the blood

from her garage and now her fears

are covered with mud.

Couldn't Uncle Bill, shouldn't Uncle Bill

have been somewhere else

for his final thrill?

His fatal finale, his final adios

was a luger moment after

the family was most

Confused, complicit and corrupted:

he made all of us feel

so interrupted.

When, in truth, we are ravens–not doves

when, in truth, all we should be thinking

is he still has our love.

His jokes were always funny

and he never was short of money

unlike Uncles Petey, Bob, and Tommy

and the loudmouth Aunt Honey.

He had everything in his home
except family.
   

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