Baked Alaska

For Peggy Kenneally, my aunt and Godmother

Peg of the swan-white hair I'm word-stretched to give you
your du, queenmáthair of givers, never wanting more
than a quiet chat - no knauvshauling connishur -
and a cuppa Barry's cha with maybe a teaspoon or two
of sweet slagging; how you've a fella hidden somewhere;
about breaking your pledge when Joe, the last of your lot,
your Mr Bachelor Boy son himself, knots the knot
he's tying now; how he's sure to have your dessert there,
your one treat: a sheer impossibility of frozen ice cream
baked in an oven set high enough to sap a body,
between layers of poundcake and a frosting dream
of meringue that crumbles as quickly as everybody
would should anything happen to you. O Aunt Me Daza
this is my half-baked, dished-up effort at Baked Alaska.
...