The House of Yes (poem)

You alcoholics, you three.
When Mummy dies, bet there’ll be a mutiny.
Know you all never enjoyed scrutiny. 
But, Button.
I thought I was done with you. 
An insane cycle 
the eye you push through. 
Then I see your unkind seating arrangements.
How many babies?
How many engagements? 
How many weddings to be in attendance?
Button.
But, Button, turn that chin up, buckle-up that upper lip.
Until you forget to forget. 
Ah, but Button, I remember.
The OBX in September. 
The horror show presented as fact. 
How I had to put your Binky blanket back. 
How his eyes would sparkle as soon as you appeared. 
When it’d churn my innards, your voice seared my ears.
How you could cry on cue, 
with the only snot present being you.  
How’d you wail like a toddler. 
Your tantric tantrums. 
Overblowing my ultimatums. 
How you snowed him with your cocaine. 
And I see he’s over again. 
Because you’re over a bar. 
When, if he had his priorities straight, 
would be looking for his ideal wife.
Or at least a pussy to bed for the night.
So, Little Sister, tell me, what’s it like?
Always being Daddy-Bro’s Mrs. Right?