Uncle
She found the body
Hanging off a pear tree
When I came across Gram
She had already cinched
Her own belt around
Her own brown neck
And was shimmying
Out on the limb
To join her son
As was our custom if
The tree had been a Bosc
But this was a Bartlett
When I pointed that out
We both laughed
And took a pull
From my flask then spit
Vodka on the trunk
And set the tree on fire
Also our way and
As we walked home
She mumbled son
Of a bitch son of a bitch
And we both laughed
Also our way