The Agony Aunt

agony-aunt

There’s always one, the gummy aunt, who tends to smell of death and violets,
And wants to kiss you. “Oh, you’ve grown!” Her brain is stuck on autopilot,
With spittle stretched between her lips, which forms a stringy, fragile isthmus.
She turns up with the other twits who always seem to call at Christmas,
And doesn’t know your name at all, but somehow thinks it might be Jack,
As she hands you fifty pence and says, “Don’t let the rest see that,”
As though she’s parted with a thousand quid. She always wears her coat,
And leaves a trail of footstep fingerprints around the gravy boat.
She loves to gossip about strangers, such as Joe and Ede and Florrie.
Then she leaves at dead on six to get back home in time for Corrie.

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22 responses to “The Agony Aunt

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