|She hates her uncle,
whose galumphing farts
He thinks are wit. She's six. She hates her aunt,
Abrasive as the North, who always starts
Long bitter stories that she somehow can't
Bring to an end. She hates her grandma's smell
Of too-sweet talc. She loathes her mother's cooking.
She cringes at her step-dad's "Hey,
Later she'll say, "I wish them all in
But now she feels it a grim mystery:
"What have these people got to do with me?"