To Home

“Please sit, and make yourself to home,” she said,
Clearly exasperated by our frowns.
“My daughter tells me you’re a bunch of clowns,
But she’s inclined to fuss when she’s misled,
And you apparently grabbed Uncle Ted
In order to insist that wearing gowns
Was in his contract.” We took off our crowns
And sat in state there, wishing we were dead.

“We hoped we need not dip into our stores.
We’re on our way home from the junior tourney,”
I explained, “astride a three-wheeled gurney
Built of plywood and six two-by-fours
That took us safely through the recent wars.”
She sneered, then we continued on our journey.