More Great Aunt Min

I'll say one thing for my forbears:
they always knew their destinations.
Take Great Aunt Min now - she
who thrilled us with her parakeet
a day or two ago. She underwent
a minor medical procedure -
well, that's what we would say today.
Quite different then, of course.
She woke up on a marble slab, sure as hell
that she had gone to heaven:
so many beings floating round
robed head to toe in white, no less,
their faces gauzy, featureless. Angels,
sure as hell fire - as she aptly said.
I asked - got withering looks from mum and dad -
about the pure white wellies in her tale.
Standard issue for an angel, were they?
Not a word came in reply. She had been
to heaven - briefly - and would not
relinquish all that kudos lightly.

Great Aunt Min

In Islington
did Great Aunt Min
keep a pub
she called an inn.
And there, within,
in golden cage
a regal bird
(then all the rage),
a parakeet
elective mute.
Though quite absurd,
no syllable
would pass its beak
until it heard
the magic words:
"Time, if you please!
Time ladies and
good gentlefolk!
Ti..i..ime... if you please!"

At which the bird
would stretch and shake
and lift its beak
as if to say
"Who reckons me
too dumb to speak?"
And loudly then,
with raucous squawk
would demonstrate
his fruity talk:
"Aint you buggers
got no homes?
Aint you buggers
got no homes?
Aint you buggers
got no homes?"
until Aunt Min
turned out the light
and locked them in
to pass the night,
when meek and mild
as any child
he'd settle down
and wait for her
to cover him.