Craziness All Together.

The house is full

of craziness, but it's all spread out.

I want the craziness all together.

Crazy Dad is in the garage, 

drinking Southern Comfort 

from a plastic cup and deriving,

I think, very little comfort,

except for the Santa hat he's wearing,

which makes him feel like a comedian,

which makes him feel funny and attractive,

which makes him feel happy.

Crazy Sister is in the TV room

with the TV blaring. She's talking loudly to Crazy Aunt

and is using her public voice and her public face

which scrunches up and laughs at what is not funny

and which is perfectly painted

with brown eyebrows and very red Cupid's bow lips.

Her son toddles around the coffee table 

and Sister unconsciously grabs for him before he falls

onto the dirty rug.

Crazy Stepmom is in the very white kitchen.

Her blue eyes are lit up like illuminated tree ornaments,

her face plastered with surprise,

even though she's not surprised. That's actually her 

"I'm having fun" face. She chats with her sister

and cackles at the stories about dogs and traffic cops.

She's wearing a beret and eating rum balls.

A little sugar sticks to her lipstick. Now her mouth

is an ornament too.

Crazy Cousin is wearing a lot of clothes

because he's very thin, but his headphones are thick

and they're pumping high-decibal trance music

into his ears. He sits on the living room step,

playing with his DJ equipment and thinking about

his cats back home in Boise.

Crazy Brother and Crazy Uncle and

Crazy Other Assorted Relatives are all milling about

the house doing mostly separate activities.

It's Christmas Day, but no one seems to notice.

Green olives and cheddar cheese and mixed drinks 

sit for hours on the kitchen table. At least they are all 

together.

I'm breaking my own rule and posting this, a poem that I authored. Don't tell anyone; I'm afraid it will look narcissistic.