Me Late Mum, A Holly Day Mastermind Maven Maverick

Way back before this baby boomer waz astute
countless decades before aye became long in the tooth,
and also prior tomb ma sporting dentures to boot
fond memories rush more than so far back

envisioning illusory wind blown steppes
(wait...this visage belongs to thine
long since deceased maternal grandfather
hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,

or some place thereabouts) within the mind
of this prevaricating aging
"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot
preserved records (those times b'fore cds or dvds)
and now rewinds tape when family of origin
celebrated Xmas secular Harris
house style rendition of Magic Flute,

though genealogy steeped in Judaism
recollections abound of boyhood mirth
devoid of rubric asper orthodox and/or reformed
Judeo-Christian religion,
which essentially means,
I did not give or take a hoot
nonetheless cherish fond memories,
when ma late mum

relished making a hoo ha,
and got tickled and pickled pink
rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents
and jamming three knee high stockings
with healthy goodies such as fruit
cuz, as a devotee of Carleton Fredericks,

she frowned on giving out sweets
particularly to three children she begat,
and iced hill easily recall her poker faced
feigning complete ignorance and surprise
sheep played “dumb” as did father
convincingly not giving a hoot

puzzled asper neatly wrapped and
stacked gifts under decorated tree
while distorted reflections of stockings
fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws
in tandem of nostalgic magic

worth mo' than any amount of loot,
perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point,
when some jolly codger (papa)
dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit
and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,

whose canine barking, cavorting, and dashing
haphazardly set them on a direct route
to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree
cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated
with irrepressible escaped bursts of flatulence
(ah wont mention hoof from)
that emulated a toot.