Poor sister

She’s stately enough in her baroque curved
staircase which properly modern in its day
will soon be an antique like you
but lies instead its nice that its there
no need to remember how to move a muscle

The poor sister is the most important
He died so someone had to look after her
Why do it to die in a chair unable to talk
held steady under care the while the white white blurs

The young inhabit our world as welcome treasured guests
but when they leave they are gone like the wind that carries storms

Our wealthy mechanical aunts
who gather at holiday dance
and mutter a lot with the wine
shipped at great risk
rare donkeys over desserts

so long as the caviar is bearable
she heard her aunt say
she reminisced as she escaped her uniform
at the end of another long day