first mistake

My first mistake was not shaving for one week while grampa
that toady deviant scoundrel ate all our crunchy peanut butter
on day old crust-less toast of the finest holy wheat.

Down the labyrinthian halls of this misfit mansion, Aunt Beebe
with her girlish giggle played dominoes alone, chugged warm
wine until slurringly giddy, completely unmistakenly stoned,

despite the inebriated state of her wild-ass mind, she sliced and
stabbed red potatoes into dinky midget chunks, twisted green
beans into divine spirals fit for cherubim and heathens both

while fiddling and fidgeting in between with the plump uneaten
Sunday roast.