Auntie and Hand Washing
You made your way from the john
to the dining table
and Auntie said
have you washed your hands?
yes
you said
are you sure?
Auntie asked
looking at you
with her fixed stare
and the black mutt
under the table
gazed at you too
I washed them this morning
you said
let me see your hands
Auntie said
and so you held out your hands
and she turned them over and up
and held them looking at them
you're meant to wash them
after going to the toilet each time
she said
not just
when you get up
in the morning
she released your hands
and you looked at them
as if they were suddenly there
before you for the first time
so you had best wash them
Auntie said
before I dish up your dinner
and so you went back
to the wash room
and turned on the tap
and taking soap
between your hands
you washed and rinsed
and dried them
on the white towel
on the rail and went back
to the dining room
and showed your aunt
that's better
she said
now go sit down
and wait for your dinner
and the black mutt
put its chin on your lap
waiting in anticipation
for titbits from your plate
and Auntie called out
from the kitchen
remember to say your prayer
before meals
and you said ok
and muttered
thank you for what I'm about to eat
may there be few vegetables
and lots of meat
and the mutt's dribble
wet your thigh
its jaw lingering there
giving you
its dark eyed stare.
poem by Terry Collett
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Related quotes
Just Beyond
And Auntie saying Don’t
Go too far so I can’t see you
And off you’d go off down
The iron stairs with the dog
In pursuit and the wind in the
Sails of your coat and the sky
Beckoning above and Auntie’s
Voice trailing away on the wind’s
Wings and you happy as the sun
In the morning sky making your
Feet rush across grass and the dog
Overtaking looking back tongue
Out of the side of its mouth and
You saying Go on you mutt run
Run and your young legs taking
You far from Auntie’s sight and
Yet looking back you know she’ll
Be there hands in the clothes
Wash scrubbing away her elbows
Wet from the plunge and you
Throwing hands to the sky and
Saying Lift me up wind take me
To the great place beyond the clouds
Of white and sky of blue with just
The mutt and five year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Unnecessary
Unnecessary,
Auntie said,
when you asked
about taking the mutt
for a walk;
he can take himself
for a walk,
in fact,
she continued
straining the cabbage,
the green water
pushing through
the stainless steel colander,
he runs,
he loves to run
all over the fields.
You knew he did,
you used to run with him,
and being that kind of mutt
he’d let you run beside him,
you being a small boy,
you being the one
who shared his bacon rinds,
you the one who filled
his water bowl
when Auntie forgot.
Sit down now,
Auntie said,
dinner is about
to be served,
and I hope
you have washed
your hands,
and she’d dish you
a large serving
of cabbage
with your meal
and she didn’t see
how that was so
unnecessary.
poem by Terry Collett
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Auntie and Mutt.
Auntie cut the rind
off the bacon
and offered it
to the dog
but before the dog
could put his lips to it
you made off with it
down the cast iron stairs
beside the barrack block
and the dog followed you
barking as it did so
and once you reached the ground
you went off
onto the grass
and the dog
chased you
and jumped up at you
trying to reach
the bacon rind
you held between fingers
and Auntie called over
the metal rail
let the mutt have it
don't tease him
and so you bit
the rind in half
and gave the mutt one half
and ate the other yourself
but sometimes after Auntie
put the bacon rind
in the dog's bowl
you picked it up
and tossed it
over the balcony rail
onto the ground below
and the dog raced down
the stairs after it
but now and then
you pretended
to toss it over
and after the dog
raced off
you would hold it
over the side of the rail
and called to the mutt
and said
I still got it mutt
and the dog raced back
up the stairs
and you sat there
on the metal landing
and the dog came
and licked and nuzzled you
and you gave the dog
the bacon rind
and he licked you
and wagged its tail
and Auntie called out
what are you up to?
what are you doing now?
poem by Terry Collett
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Too Far From Auntie's Gaze
Auntie said
don't go
too far away
with the mutt
I need to know
where you are
and so you
and the mutt
went down
the metal stairway
and off
into the barrack grounds
at Aldershot
keeping close
to the places
that your aunt
could see you from
and you could hear
soldiers marching
on the parade ground
and the sergeants
bellowing their orders
to the marching troops
and you sensed
the cold air
and frost
on the ground
as you walked
and the mutt sniffed
the earth
and you said
come on mutt
let's go for a run
and off you went
and the mutt followed
and overtook you
its tail wagging
its eyes large
and brown
like pools of chocolate
and lucid like mud
and you raced him
as far as you could
then you had to stop
for breath
and the mutt
stopped too
and looked back at you
its tongue hanging
from the corner
of its mouth
and you looked over
to where your aunt lived
and realised
she wouldn't
be able to see you
from where you were
and the dog didn't care
and the air
was chilling
your lungs
and your tongue hung
in the corner
of your little boy mouth
and the soldiers marched
and marched
and you stood watching
bent over
with your hands
on your knees
and big black birds
called out from the trees.
poem by Terry Collett
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Your Auntie Grizelda
By diane hilderbrand and jack keller
She knows her mind all right, your auntie grizelda,
She says she knows my kind, she might, maybe so.
Oh, yeah, shes raised you right, your auntie grizelda,
You only know the things she wants you to know.
I know shes having a fit,
She doesnt like me a bit,
No bird of grace ever lit on auntie grizelda.
You cant begrudge her style, your auntie grizelda,
She couldnt budge a smile and do it for free.
So righteous making fudge, your auntie grizelda,
So proper judging others over her tea.
You look just like her you do,
I know by looking at you,
That youve been listening to your auntie grizelda.
[ad lib]
Oh, no, dont look at me like auntie grizelda
It takes much more to be someone of your own.
Youve got to make it free from auntie grizelda
Or just like her youll have to make it alone.
I know shes having a fit,
She doesnt like me a bit,
No bird of grace ever lit on auntie grizelda.
Auntie grizelda, auntie grizelda
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Auntie's Mutt
Auntie’d cut off
the bacon rind
and throw it
for the dog
and you’d grab it
and run down
the stairs with it
and the dog’d
run down after you
and the bacon rind
yapping at your heels
and you’d hold
the bacon rind up
and the mutt’d jump up
at it and you’d move it
higher and higher
and the mutt’d jump
higher and higher
until at last
he’d grab the bacon rind
between his teeth
and pull it
from your fingers
and run off
with his prize
and you’d stand there
clapping your hands
ready for the next
thrown out
bacon rind
from Auntie’s hand
up on the balcony.
poem by Terry Collett
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Nothing To Say.
Auntie took you to the hut
where the wives of the soldiers
met up to chat and drink tea
and eat cakes and you sat in
the chair looking at each of
them in turn wishing time
would go and you could go
back home to your few toys
and play but no Auntie carried
on the talking and the long
conversations were way over
your head and now and then
they’d break into laughter and
some woman’s kid would cry
and she’d say I think she needs
changing and off she’d go wheeling
the pram to another room and
Auntie’d talk to another woman
and you’d lift your eyes ceiling
wards and wonder where Uncle
was fighting and how he would
cope stuck in the hut with women
yakking all the time and one woman
smiled a big goofy smile at you and
offered you a cake and orange juice
but you shook your head and looked
away in silence sulking with no good
thoughts in your mind and nothing to say.
poem by Terry Collett
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Scavenging For Coal
At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces
that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home
Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees
these fingers
and finds out
what I've been doing
he'll spank me
for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said
you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you
the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings
what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this
all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal
she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it
to feel the weight
that's enough
you said
too much
and I won't be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around
at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned
the area around you
let's go
you said
and so you both
walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house
where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived
and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door
and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay
where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed
your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours
her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away
and another adventure
and another day.
poem by Terry Collett
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My Auntie Zousy
auntie zousy works
as caregiver for years in chicago
to raise her grandchildren
she sent her children
to the university and they got married
and got separated from their husbands
messy, the life of auntie zousy had
always been messy but she survives
somehow
always on the go
finding work as caregiver in the
united states of america
she's 75 now and on her birthday
a party is tendered
surrounded by her 30 grandchildren or so
and inside the grand old house
of her ancestors
the laughters redound
reverberating the happy sounds
of a big family
i look at her
she is short, and emaciated and
her cheekbones show that she is not at all well
sickly, that is what auntie zousy is now
bent and misshapen
and yet in her silence
she has not surrendered
to the sacrifices of
love for the family
her grandchildren now sing
her a happy birthday
and she blows her 75 candles
in one swift breath
suddenly the room is dark
and smoke rises in the air
and she makes her
silent wish and then the lights
are turned on and laughter
follows as it will always will
happy, so happy, that is what
my auntie zousy is all about
a life of sacrifice
a lifetime of service
a life full of family laughter
a life full of love
age has not stolen
what she has treasured
now she waits for something
more exciting
perhaps, a happy death
a funeral surrounded by all
the grandchildren she always loved
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tees spoon
Hand is
Use for eat...
Ok...
Wash every time
At your's hands...
At every works...
Wash your's hands...
Clean...
with clean...
Wash And eat food...
Tell about your children
Today...
Wash hands
And eat...
You are lazy
Don't wash
Your hands...
Use tees spoon...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I Washed My Hands In Muddy Water (Rehearsal 07-29-70)
I was born in Macon Georgia
They kept my daddy over in Macon jail
He told me if you keep your hands clean
You won't hear them bloodhounds on your trail
Well I fell in with bad companions
Robbed a man, oh up in Tennessee
They caught me way up in Nashville
They locked me up and threw away the key
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didn't come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream
Well I asked the judge now when's my time up
He said son, oh you know we won't forget
If you try just to keep your hands clean
We might just make a good man of you yet
Oh I couldn't wait to get my time up
I broke out, broke out of Nashville jail
I just crossed the state-line of Georgia
Well I can hear those bloodhounds on my trail
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didn't come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Washed My Hands In Muddy Water
(words & music by joe babcock)
I was born in macon georgia
They kept my daddy over in macon jail
He told me if you keep your hands clean
You wont hear them bloodhounds on your trail
Well I fell in with bad companions
Robbed a man, oh up in tennessee
They caught me way up in nashville
They locked me up and threw away the key
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didnt come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream
Well I asked the judge now whens my time up
He said son, oh you know we wont forget
If you try just to keep your hands clean
We might just make a good man of you yet
Oh I couldnt wait to get my time up
I broke out, broke out of nashville jail
I just crossed the state-line of georgia
Well I can hear those bloodhounds on my trail
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didnt come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spied
How was it for you?
Uncle asked, lying
Slumped across Auntie,
Some small-beached
Whale, his voice escaping
His lungs as would air
From a punctured tyre.
Fine, it was fine, Auntie
Sighed, her soprano
Voice easing beneath
His sweaty soft bulk,
Unaware their young
Niece was standing silent
By the half open door,
Capturing them in the
Semi light, waiting small
And innocent to ask for
Water, dithering, unsure
Whether to ask and stay
Or simply to close the
Door and walk away.
poem by Terry Collett
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Morningside
Written by: neil diamond
Morningside
The old man died
And no one cried
They simply turned away
And when he died
He left a table made of nails and pride
And with his hands he carved these words inside
For my children
Morning light
Morning bright
I spent the night
With dreams that make you weep
Morning time
Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine
For I recall the words the old man signed
For my children
And the legs were shaped with his hands
And the top made of oaken wood
And the children sat around this table
Touched with their laughter
Ah, and that was good
Morningside
An old man died
And no one cried
He surely died alone
And truth is sad
For not a child would claim the gift he had
The words he carved became his epitath
For my children
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Many people wash their hands to have dinner with the bishop, only a few sit down to his table.
Lucky santa! ! (A funny story)
Santa goes into his son`s room to wish him goodnight. His son is having a nightmare - Santa wakes him and asks his son if he is OK? The son replies he is scared because he dreamt that his aunt had died. Santa assures the son that Auntie is fine and sends him to bed.
The next day, Auntie dies. One week later, Santa again goes into his son`s room to wish him goodnight. His son is having another nightmare - Santa again wakes his son. The son this time says that he had dreamt that his grandmother had died. The father assures the son that she is fine and sends him to bed.
The next day, grandmother dies. One week later, Santa again goes into his son`s room to wish him goodnight. His son is having another nightmare, he again wakes his son. The son this time says that he had dreamt that his daddy had died. The father assures the son that he is OK and sends the boy to bed.
Santa goes to bed but cannot sleep because he is so terrified. The next day, Santa is scared for his life- he is sure is going to die. After dressing he drives very cautiously to work fearful of a collision. He doesn`t eat lunch because he is scared of food poisoning. He avoids everyone for he is sure he will somehow be killed. He jumps at every noise, starts at every movement and hides under his desk.
After days work, upon walking in his front door, he finds his wife, Jeeto, 'Good God, Dear, ' he proclaims, 'I`ve just had the worst day of my entire life! '
Jeeto responds, 'You think your day was bad, this morning my ex-boyfriend dropped dead on the front steps! '
poem by Edwin Drood
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The Hands.... (That Dared To Speak!)
the hands....
that cleaned the old man
lying on urine stained sheets,
that planted the bulbs
in the old woman's flower bed.
that washed the dishes
for forty years....
the hands...
that built the old barn,
that plowed the fields,
that harvested the crops....
the hands...
that stroked desire's body,
that found each secret treasure,
that closed the window.
that held the baby,
that taught the child to write,
that buttoned his suit
on the day he was married.
the hands....
that buried the body,
that brushed leaves from the grave,
that packed away pictures.
the hands....
that picked up the pen,
that turned bloodstained pages,
that dared to speak!
the hands...
now old and withered,
painfully bruised,
often clasped in prayer,
that open to take the small child's hand;
that unlock the door,
and beckon to those in need...
the hands...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My mother's hands
My mother had thick, wide, hands,
callused from years of hard work.
I used to like to hold them,
feel their strength and warmth
Those were the hands that cared,
caressed and held her me close.
Those were the hands that scrubbed
and washed, cooked for us and nursed.
My mother had beautiful hands
and would paint her nails light pink.
They were warm, artistic hands
that could crochet well and knit.
Those were the hands that created,
made beautiful shawls and clothes.
Those were the hands that altered dresses
I wore ‘til they were old.
My mother had beautiful hands
that cooked and cleaned and scrubbed,
and within the things that those hands did
were bundles and bundles of love.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Neglecting Oneself
I stop by the mirror
to wash my hands
on a public comfort room
I have no intention of looking at myself
like a map
trying to find the path for a
treasure hunt
there is none i think
that makes day
a story for a pot of gold or what
but by chance i am caught by the face of the mirror
looking at me
copying me
mimicking me
as though i am not myself in there anymore
I dread
and so i washed my hands too quickly
and did not bother
drying them
with that paper or cloth hanging on the side
the face is angry
and it is asking
for my
apology
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Maiden Cook
A young pretty bride, very coy,
Entered her new house with joy;
She was highly educated, quite,
Bereft of the house-hold chores, right.
Next day her dear mother-in-law,
Beckoned her to the kitchen and saw
Her taking charge of the cooking.
The girl was aghast at the booking!
However, she made up her mind to cook,
And thought she'd take the cook book;
The menu for lunch was given,
As per the book she was driven.
Every often she ran to her mother-in-law,
And took her advice too, for she was raw.
On the dining table the fare was laid,
To partake, the other members she bade.
One by one, the items were tasted,
In appreciation, their heads nodded;
When they came to the greens to taste,
One, in a hurry got up and ran in haste,
One to the sink went to vomit,
The other took off his hands to wash it!
The girl was in a fix, with great worry,
As the mother-in-law tasted the greens curry!
‘My God'! she spit it out, and cried,
‘What is it you've done, my child'?
‘The greens, did you thoroughly wash, do tell'?
‘Yes, Ma, thrice, I did wash with ‘Surf Excel'!
.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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