Another Poem.

This poem had to be about a relative.


The Worst Thanksgiving Ever

No matter how hard I try, I will never forget
those bulky glasses that magnified that vacant stare,
or the way he filled a room
horizontally and vertically.
Whenever he breaches his lips,
Hammond, Indiana, can be heard.

He constantly reminded everyone of
his post office adventures
by dressing the part
every
single
day.
Short short short blue shorts,
his ill-fitting hat that hid
his bald head,
and the shirt that held his fat
like a dam moments
before it bursts.

I never understood his fascinations with Iguanas
nor the need for him to let them crawl
beneath his shirt
inside McDonalds.
My burger was nicely
complimented with stares.

Still a child, I was relieved
when he justified himself
with the simple excuse
“I’m homosexual, Brian.”

“That’s great, Uncle Jim,
I thought you were fucking crazy.”