Tangled RelationshipsHear me read this

My aunt drops kisses on my cousinís head;
she sets her book aside as though his chatter
charmed her, gently tucks him into bed.
She always says that dirty clothes donít matter
as long as heís not hurt - he neednít fear
sheíll spank him. My Mom says sheís got no spine
and spoils the boy, whoíll no doubt turn out queer;
but Iíve played ball with him and he seems fine.

In shorts, my auntís lean legs could be a girlís.
I loitered by her door one day and spied
her singing as she lathered the tight curls
that wet my dreams. Yet, if my parents died
and she adopted me, I would be done
with thoughts like those, and glad to be her son.

Previously appeared in The Edge City Review

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