Here’s My Pocketbook, Here’s My Key

My mother said Noelle’s always picking

her nose in other people’s business. Like

telling her where to hang the pictures

of kittens in a basket (out of bright

sunlight so they won’t fade.) Noelle just might

have her eyes on them too, I’m pretty sure

we’d better nip things in the butt, she’ll take

it all if I don’t watch out, she’s sticking

her finger in every pie. Sure enough

she’s at your bedside while you’re dying. No

relation at all. Eating your dinner,

your Friday fish, right off your tray—sinner!

You’re unconscious, but the fishy odor

may still disturb your brain. Oh mother, stay tough.

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