Everything Is Relative

My father was one of thirteen, so many uncles,
one committed suicide, one auntie lady of the night;
the 'death' drove a motorbike thro' a lattice bridge,
then he came out on the other side like chips.

One wrote like he spoke - quaint, cringey rhetoric,
as though static and his persona needed a click;
they didn't all know me, we could have gone to Kew Gardens,
looked at the flowers, I'd tell them about my ivory towers.

Grandma was a haridan, rough and tough from Kilburn,
now its changed, can't buy house for less than millions;
my brothers and sister were much younger than me,
I never had the luxury of company or close family.

You may not like them but 'keep tabs' on your family guide,
just like Einstein with that dog cocking its head to one side.