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."