NO HAPPY ENDINGS

A BOY AND HIS AUNTIE IN 1950S

There are no happy endings,
Auntie said. Her words tasted

like bitter lemons in the mouth,
causing imaginary ulcers that

stung when ever words came out.
It was the way she said it, as if

she’d discovered some mystery
of the universe and hammered it

like brass. People meet, they have
kids and then after a while they die

and that’s it, she’d say, giving you a
look, clearing breakfast things away.

To your five year old ears, this seemed
like harsh; no mention of an afterlife

or heaven or all things will all right in
the end God will see to that; her words

heavy with sadness, leaving an odd taste
in the mouth like a fizzy drink gone flat.