She always wore some kind of hat,
My aunt Beryl,
And gloves that shimmered
Like a river trout
When she moved her hands,
Which was all the time
When she was talking.

"We must always be prepared to meet
the good lord, or a good man,"
She said as she kissed
The "Cherries in the Snow" tip
Of her rocket-chrome
Lipstick tube.
 
She let me sit close when she drove,
Nudging the cream steering wheel
With just her fingertips,
and her ruby Ford rumbled
Into town like a cussing old dog.

Men in the Rexall tipped their hats,
And aunt Beryl smiled like cocoa.
We perched at the soda fountain,
Ordered tuna salad on toast
And a pink elephant with two straws.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Click to View Author Guidance

If you just spent a lot of time (or even just a little time) putting together the next chapter in a story, only to find someone posted two seconds before you, this is where you can let your work hang out until it finds a new home.

updated Oct 27 '09 by BDrewCollier