The old man grimaced and silently imbibed his pint

His withered wife glared her whole life at him

And pointedly moved to a seat

At the far end of the joint


Two sons, forty and finicky,

Silently contemplated the following day’s races

While the daughter and son-in-law,

Long run out of things to say,

Blew smoke in each other’s faces.


Only the children were living;

The girl was chandelier-swinging

And the boy was table-top walking.

“Shhh!” said the mother,

“be quiet you two rascals,

We can’t seem to hear ourselves talking”



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