My mother’s ebony chopsticks are not in storage.
\nMy George Mikan doll is in storage.
\nMy little basketball plaything that was so complete,
\nEven to the elastic strap on his teeny safety glasses.
\nI used to chuck George across the den to my dog, Pan,
\nWho always licked at Uncle Ed’s shoes.
\nUncle Ed had cordovans coated glassy with doggie saliva.
\nHe’d smoke Camels without polish and sit awake
\nAll night hollering, "Bring back Fred Allen!"
\nMother loved Uncle Ed like a brother.
\nShe used to say, "If my ebony chopsticks were not
\nIn storage, we could have a real oriental fling."
\nUncle Ed was busy picking smoke scraps off his tongue.
\nPan knew the score. He saw me kissing
\nThat long-legged doll in the bathroom mirror.
\nMy mother’s ebony chopsticks are not in storage.
\nNo more than my father’s ashes are in that rusty urn
\nOn the mantle near the plaid stamps and the cuff links.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"