Thoughts at the Family Christmas Party

If normal is relative

there is no normal

if I’m a relative to you

I’m not normal,

relative you,

normally my relative,

no stranger to genuine sarcasm

mocking mockingbirds,

or disingenius genius genes without pockets,

genes expanding like the jeans of Uncle Norm as he packs more

buttertarts into the blackhole he calls his mouth;

his girth expanding like the universe itself,

recreating new norms and molecules called Uncle Norm,

rippling fat at the bend in the nexus of the solar plexus.

But, fat is thin if you’re a Rubens.

You shoulda been born 400 years ago, chubs,

you’d be relatively beautiful.


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