Virtue

If there ever was a man who never tired of drinking
It was my maternal uncle who was deaf to all his wife’s grumbling
When at last she threatened him with divorce
Uncle Vass walloped the whatnot and sang until he was hoarse.

Furniture sold, wedding rings pawned and the premises bereft of light
Uncle used to breach his promises day and night
When aunt Faith told herself “enough is enough” and eloped with the broker (pawn)
Uncle Vass was tickled to tears and called his consort’s lover a great clown.

Whenever my father seemed to fail his amours to eschew
Mother cited her brother who lived all his breezy life a paragon of virtue
“He ruined his life on drink, I grant,” ranted my mother
“But his regular drinking was holier than your irregular resolve,” said she, wiping a tear.

Father forsook his spare wooing to stop his spouse’s nagging
But took the hint and drank, and confessed to each of his sins without batting an eyelid.