To our nephew, Mike (aka, Milo) at his wedding rehearsal dinner:

We all agree our groom to be
Was one we all could like.
That was until, against our will,
He dropped his nickname, "Mike."

When young and slight, he’d pick a fight
When called that "Milo guy."
But now, for shame, he takes the name
That no one knows him by.

We think of "sleek" and "trim physique"
When "Mikey’s" name is stated.
But "Milo" fits the opposites
In minds of those related.

But where we’re at, we’re thankful that,
When bride and groom are uno,
That men don’t claim, their spouse’s name,
Cause he’d be "Milo Fluno."

So Mary Beth, don’t hold your breath
When you call him to bed.
You may be sad, to find his dad
All cuddled up instead.

To my siblings at a wedding party:

Signs of my aging are many.
It's a battle I just can not win.
But I don't have to look in the mirror.
I just have to look at my kin.

There's Betty the oldest among us.
A line here and there in her face.
But isn't it just a bit scary.
She's beginning to look like Aunt Grace.

Mary Lou has a very good surgeon.
He's good at the tuck and the fold,
But she can't fool her siblings around her,
When her son's over forty years old.

Bill has reached Medicare age now.
So, instead of young chicks in the chase,
He's stalking the grandmas and spinsters
Who are just about right for his pace.

Dick's leaving dough on the table,
But not in his contracting bids.
He's leaving it all in Las Vegas
So there won't be much left for his kids.

Margi's no longer in show biz.
She just left the Screen Actor's Guild.
Her one minute spot in "Your Doctors"
Left her completely fulfilled.

Karen's retired and contented 
From June to September the 4th.
The rest of the time she's exhausted
Entertaining her kin from the North.

Neill lost some weight, it's apparent,
But looks a bit older not younger.
Frankly, he looked a lot better
When he was a lot more humonger.

Those are the signs of my aging.
My siblings are aging you see.
Good thing I look only forty
Or so says those working for me.

To my wife on Mother's Day which fell on our 30th Anniversary:

Our wedding day falls on the 14th
And Mother's Day also, it's true.
Which means that your gift won't be doubled
But actually cut up in two.

It was hard finding gifts for you, honey.
After giving for 29 years.
How many diamonds and rubies
Can you wear on your fingers and ears?

We think you're the greatest of Mothers.
And the best among wives in the state.
But remember you wouldn't be either
If you didn't have kids and a mate.

To my daughter-in-law, at a party the night before her wedding:

We tried to get to you before
To set the record straight.
But now that you have made this lunge
It may be too damn late.

But anyway, I'll tell you now
What baggage Johnny brings.
To let you think a little bit
Before you swap the rings.

His sister, Katie, isn't neat.
Of that we make no bones,
But then again you're use to that
Cause she and John are clones.

Grace, his mom's so orderly
She makes a daily list.
And if I don't put sex on top
I probably will get missed.

Uncle Fran, the football coach,
Isn't waiting for the worst.
But if Paterno doesn't retire
Fran might just shoot him first.

Aunt Marjorie, loquacious she,
Can make your spirits lift.
But Marjorie thinks her gift a gab
Is really that, a gift.

Aunt Mary Ann, the matriarch,
A ne're-do-well she ain't.
With husband, Bob, and all the rest
She has to be a saint.

Aunt Margi is a little vain.
Youth is what she seeks.
She's had so many facelifts, though,
Her boobs are now her cheeks.

Uncle Dick can't hear so very well
Since the war became his plight.
So if you tell him he's a jerk
He'll smile and say you're right.

So that's the word on Johnny's clan
And other's we'll forego.
An uncle here, a cousin there --
It's best you didn't know.

You're now forewarned, the secret's out.
There's no more to disparage.
The only normal relatives
Are not from blood but marriage.

To my nephew, Andy, at his wedding rehearsal dinner:

We're excited about being here, Andy.
For the wedding we've waited so long.
And frankly we've whispered among us
If something wasn't terribly wrong.

Alas, you've allayed all our fears, kid.
We knew you had come from good stock.
But there wasn't much time that was left on
Your ticking biological clock.

There are things that your Robin should know here,
And being your dad's favorite brother,
I thought it my duty to reveal them,
Though some may embarrass your mother.

First off, his name isn't "Andy..."
It's "horsie," his certificate states.
And his hairline leads some to suspect that
His genes have some milkman-like traits.

His uncle and aunts have some skeletons
But the last time I exposed them to all,
I was pummeled by those I offended
Aunt Margi, the worst, I recall.

Andy's mother is really unique, Robin
As I'm sure you are keenly aware.
A mix of Elizabeth Taylor,
Zsa Zsa, Imelda, and Cher.

His father lived out on the edge, dear.
But in heaven he's not run a foul.
Except when he called Jesus, "horsey,"
Or Holy Mother Mary as "doll."

So, Robin we're pleased you have joined us
As part of the Anderson clan.
But you got the best of the bargain,
'Cause you got an Anderson man.

To my niece, Grace, at her wedding rehearsal dinner:

We're gathered in honor of Gracie,
A product of Milo and Kare.
It's surprising she isn't as spacey
As either one of the pair.

We knew her quite well in her childhood -
A pain in the neck little twit.
But somehow she left all the wildwood
With a pleasant demeanor and wit.

She played in the world of the lottery -
Derivatives once were her thing,
But traded the pits for the pottery
And a life as a wife of a King.

We're hoping her brother and sister
Will soon have a marriage in store.
So we can have two more excuses
To sponge off of Milo some more.

To our nephew, Tim's, future wife at their wedding rehearsal dinner:

Chris, on the eve of your marriage
There myths about Tim to debunk.
Skeletons straight from his closet
We found in the clutter and junk.

Tim says his voice is so raspy
Because infection left tonsils a wreck,
But we know it was really his mother
Who was constantly wringing his neck.

The scars on his face didn't happen
When the car overturned on his head;
He got them from hospital nurses
Who fought him off daily in bed.

The trophies he says are from football,
Baseball, handball and track
He bought in a Lawrenceville pawn shop,
Or stole from his dear brother, Jack.

Another big myth going round here
Is that Tim has a heart made of gold.
Believe me if that was the case, dear,
He would have it transplanted and sold.

Although you may think he is tidy -
A model of neatness among men,
Wait til you two share a closet.
You won't find your own clothes again.

So, we give you the mythical Timmy.
It's your turn to keep him on track.
But this gift comes with one small condition:
Please, Chris, don't give him back.

To my  Niece, Melissa, at her wedding.

Melissa, we're pleased that you're married;
Frankly, it should have come sooner.
So we figured you might have had problems
With a boyfriend who called himself, "Duner."

It isn't his name that's the issue.
It's the fact he's from Texas, the dork.
'Cause you know that we're always suspicious
Of foreigners not from New York

Look at your poor Uncle Peter
He's still an outsider to us.
While those from Seattle and Chicago
Beg just to get on the bus.

Your dear Uncle Milo's another;
A gentleman giant with charm.
But he's still from that farm state, Ohio,
And still with the smell from the farm.

Even your Aunt Grace from Pittsburgh
After 34 years doesn't rate.
In spite of the fact that her brother
Is the Assistant Head Coach at Penn State.

So Melissa we know you love Duner.
(He does have a cute Texas tush.)
But we'll be damned if in this year's election
We'll be voting for Governor Bush!!