WELL, AUNT HAROLD WAS
THE ONE WITH THE KEY
It wasn't me. All I ever did was take out the dog,
wear out the wash, grease up the bicycle chain,
and run. I could never get inside anything at all.
She was the lady with the forced smile, always
wearing those disgusting, saturated dresses,
fixing up the cellar door for thieves and robbers,
counting down the harpsichord and critizing every
astronaut whoever came home from space. 'Look
at the Michael Collins guy, all smiley! What did
he ever do? He never even left the capsule or got
to the moon. They just left him up above, circling
around, while those two walked the lunar surface.
He should be crying instead.' That was our Aunt
Harold, the one with the key to everything.
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