Ties That Blind
Grandmother and grandson,
their faces cast so profoundly
from one mold,
or is it the struggles shared
that have left the same
clefts and furrows
on both?
Sunday visit in Tim Horton's;
She, primly sipping Iced cap
He, hungrily scratching Lottery tickets.
Never looking at
the other's face,
each too busy
quietly, yet impatiently
auditing the allotted minutes.
Or is it their fear
of seeing the reflection of truth
that blocks their view?
This invisible division
sits between them,
like the sun
uncomfortably
blotting out the view
through a windshield.
He, scratches and does not win,
then leaves her to primly sip
as he methodically flees
to his ageing car.
She, sips without pleasure
discretely watching
through the glare,
his slouching retreat.
The ties that bind
can be truly blinding.
See you next Sunday dear?
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