Family Skeletons

Oh sure,

they’re a riot,

wearing spats,

performing

a rattling

marionette

version

of Fred Astaire

dancing across

the living room floor

in top hats, tails,

and walking sticks,

big lipless choppers

clacking away

to the beat;

but it never fails,

as your successful

dinner parties

wind down,

while you’re basking

in the glow

of a good Cabernet

and the admiration

of your most

cherished

friends,

they will peek out

from their dark closet,

grin a big toothy grin

and wag a boney finger

at you,

threatening

to reveal

your most

humiliating

secrets,

exposing you

to public

ridicule.