Strained Relations

I'm not very fond of my dear Uncle Speedrap,
his fingers like magnets,
his mind like a speed trap.
My daddy has money, but nothing like Speedrap.
He lives in a mansion in rich Saddle River
a few miles from Nixon, but
old tricky Dicky has nothing on Speedrap,
his tongue like a dip stick,
his eyes like a steel trap.

He talks like an expert on any old subject,
unless one's an expert, he sounds like an expert,
but most of his knowledge is bluster and buzz words
and one hour reading an encyclopedia.
But old Uncle Speedrap is smooth as a buzzard,
if he knows one's an expert,
he changes the subject.

He's drunk as a skunk when he lushes my paintings,
my dabbles, my piffles, my
aquarelle roses, like Churchill's or Hitler's,
they aren't so good, but my uncle requests
that I paint him a couple (to hang in the
basement or over the toilet.)

If it weren't for Grandma, I wouldn't see Speedrap,
his fingers like magnets,
his mind like a speed trap.
Like any fond mother, she thinks he's a honey,
but I have small use for that bunny-wrapped weasel
and his shopping mall mansion in rich Saddle River.

But lower, my stomach
will grumble and mumble,
"I rather fancy his rich caviar."

9/2/93

Karen Tellefsen
kat2@mindspring.com