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Poem

The parking lot full
of all the familiar faces,
   we are early -
all the old people
driving carts,
at the door,
waving us in…
we are them too
the remnant
   of a relative crowd.

My oldest grandson
has experienced
   the marvel
of a household of kids
and    the singularity 
of just him and his bro.

We don’t see the girls
as much
they’re out of touch…
divorce yields fruit,
but so does time,
and time again
pulls and stretches,
as if we are pizza dough,
puts us through
   the sheeter,
we are floured white
as a ghost figure.

We wave with our flags,
jovial, “Happy June 30th!”
as our church celebrates
early, not mid-week.

Nearly fifteen, my grandson
wanders by himself,
with his great-aunt,
with his brother,
with me.

Each person
has personality-
happy, grumpy,
doc…

I’m happy   but
what good is that?
Comes in handy
when friends stop
   by. My sis
came from her business
and is doing business 
on her cell.
   The eight year old’s
stomach hurts, wants to
wander with his shoes off,
can’t get his sneakers
back on,
   eventually will say
he enjoyed it all -
the fireworks
lit up his eyes
into all sorts of sizzles,
fizzles, colors    and all.

And my husband, yes,
you guessed
   is grumpy,
and I sigh,
satisfaction in the wind
yet
the importance of patients…
patience, dear.

He’s out of the sun,
in the car,
tuning out.
I’m the cartoon,
tuning into
the sun
that melts.

He’s parked his chair
away from the crowd -
   the rest of us.
I grab the chips.
As my hand slips
into the bag
having only touched the first bite,
   “Can I have the chips…”

   Delightful family,
heat, kids, memories -
ah, the warm memories.

Love it all, ever after.

7/1/2023

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