Untitled poem by my sister Vi

When I visited,
my Gramma
always
smiled
at me
and
I always yelled,
“Hi Gramma!”
My Dad
would be
sitting on
the flowered couch,
bothered by
the hot weather,
the Pirates
were on,
the overhead fan
whirred
but
it was
so hot
it really
didn’t help
much
and
after I sat there
for a while,
my dear Gramma
would yell (because the TV was so loud),
“Hey Vi – go to the cellar
and get a pop!”
my Dad
protested,
and Gramma
always said,
“Aww, Joey,
let Vi
get a pop! It’s hot out
there today!”
so I walked down
the narrow steps
and
I opened the big Fridgedaire
fridge (from the 1940s)
and a blast of cold air hit me,
and I say there, on the
beat up old couch,
listening to my Dad

by Violet Uram