Aunt Wilma, fat and pretty,
Had two little boys and a girl,
Her husband, Luther, was stepping out
Giving some other gal a whirl.
Early one morning the news arrived
Luther’d been shot in the head
An awkward moment for all the folks
‘Cause they’d found him in the Other’s bed!
After the funeral and the sidelong glances
The men got together to discuss
What to do with three little kids
And a widow who put up a fuss.
“I’ll take care of things myself
And raise my kids alone
I’m not the first to be two-timed
By a man who wouldn’t stay home!”
They never found for sure who did it
Though everybody speculated enough
The official verdict was suicide
But Aunt Wilma didn’t buy that stuff!
She never said to the officials
That her own thoughts ran to the Other
Aunt Wilma was well aware
That the sheriff was the woman’s brother!
Later, in a tender moment of candor,
Aunt Wilma told my Dad
If she’d been there she’d done it herself
At the moment she’d been that mad!
Of course she suffered
She wasn’t happy to see him die
The hurt was deep but hers to keep
Nobody’d see her cry!
But she did cry some for the children’s sake
Since now they didn’t have a father
But her private thoughts were otherwise
To grieve she didn’t even bother!
She got a job keeping books
For a gin company that baled the cotton
Time took care of the sordidness
And the whole thing soon forgotten.
But not by Aunt Wilma and her kids
Who carried on the best they could
Memories of a father embodied
On the mantle where his picture stood!