The dodgy dudes in mobster movies,
just released or freshly canned,
-- clans of rowdy, stylish people,
I wish my family were as grand.
Once a year we'd get together,
plump-cheeked girls and sleek-haired guys,
and we'd gossip, flirt, make merry
-- kicked-off shoes and loosened ties.
Moustached men in suede Armanis
glaring fiercely behind shades,
with their wives in whispered huddles
that explode in wild tirades.
And we'd party till the morning,
cousin Frank sprawled on the rug
amidst fallen chairs and glasses,
with Emelda and a jug.
I would rather live in chaos,
with my uncles on the lam,
than die in grey suburbia
-- which is where, alas, I am.