Me very late mum, a funereal day...

courtesy latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian,
sexagenarian, and Unitarian son
and modest mastermind maven maverick.

Another anniversary of her death occurs
upon advent of
May fourth two thousand and five,
not quite seventy years since her birth
November thirteenth nineteen thirty five,
nor fifty years

a married bride at age nineteen,
cuz back in dem days,
an unmarried woman
at twenty five would be
written off as a spinster.

Way back before

this baby boomer waz astute

countless decades before

aye became long in the tooth,

and also prior tomb ma mouth

sporting dentures to boot

fond memories rush

linkedin to moody blues

more than so far back

envisioning illusory wind blown steppes

(wait...this visage belongs to thine

long since deceased maternal grandfather

hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,
(now spelled Ukrainian version - Kyiv)

or some place thereabouts within the mind

of this prevaricating aging

"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot

preserved records,

(those times before cds or dvds)

and now rewinds tape

when family of origin

celebrated Xmas secular Harris

house style rendition of Magic Flute,

though genealogy steeped in Judaism

recollections abound of boyhood mirth

devoid of aforementioned rubric asper

orthodox and/or reformed

Judeo-Christian religion,

which essentially means,

I did not give or take a hoot

nonetheless cherish fond memories,

when ma late mum

relished making a hoo ha,

and got tickled and pickled pink

rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents

and jamming three knee high stockings

with healthy goodies such as fruit

cuz, as a devotee

of Carleton Fredericks,

she frowned on giving out sweets

particularly to three children she begat,

(myself and two sisters)

and iced hill easily

recall her poker faced

feigning complete ignorance and surprise

sheep played “dumb” as did father

convincingly not giving a hoot

puzzled asper neatly wrapped and

stacked gifts under decorated tree

while distorted reflections of stockings

fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws

in tandem of nostalgic magic

worth mo' than any amount of loot,

perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point moot,

when some jolly codger (papa)

dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit

and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,

whose canine barking,

cavorting, and dashing

haphazardly set them

on a direct rural route

to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree

cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated

equilibrium with irrepressible

escaped bursts of flatulence

(ah won't mention hoof from)

that emulated a toot.