my sweet old etcetera

 my sweet old etcetera


 aunt lucy during the recent


 

 war could and what


 is more did tell you just


 what everybody was fighting


 

 for,


 my sister


 isabel created hundreds


 (and


 hundreds) of socks not to


 mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers


 

 etcetera wristers etcetera, my


 mother hoped that


 

 i would die etcetera


 bravely of course my father used


 to become hoarse talking about how it was


 a privilege and if only he


 could meanwhile my


 

 self etcetera lay quietly


 in the deep mud et


 

 cetera


 (dreaming,


 et


  cetera, of


 Your smile


 eyes knees and of your Etcetera)

~ee cummings