Auxilliaries

The five older ladies have poured their tea again,

And look to each other for recognition.

This has been quite a summer, yes it has,

And Charles and William and my boy Walter

Have really taken a shine to their new garden,

Says one, steadying her cup for emphasis.

The others agree on summer, it is noted.

The gladiolas should start to bloom any day now,

My daughter Caroline so loves the flowers behind the house

Now that she has more time to visit,

Says another, cleaning her glasses for attention.

Most agree on the blooming time for gladiolas, for the record.

I tell you what, if the city doesn't start doing something

About the noise, I just don't know what I'll do,

Some days I just can't read my books like I want to.

Says a third, sipping her tea for good measure.

The noise situation is acknowledged, and receives sympathy.

The five older ladies have finished their tea collectively,

And Edith, bless her heart, can't find her medication.

The others agree fully that they ought to make it easier.

And I wonder sometimes if Walter's garden and the gladiolas

and the noisemakers and the pharmacists shouldn't just get

together like this, and discuss a few things over tea and cake,

Says a writer, wiping his eyes dramatically for effect.

But no one votes on this issue,

And the meeting sinks back into the

primordial woodwork.

(It's at my house next week, if you're interested.)