Wyatt

Wyatt by Edmund Siejka We were in London Dining in a four-hundred-year-old pub Dark wood paneling Beams carved from tree trunks History and privilege In medieval England For us it was a family vacation And everyone came. My grandson Wyatt sat next to me And I turned my attention to him Letting the other adults talk Among themselves. Eyeing the beer in front of me He asked Grandpa can I have a sip? Looking at this round-faced cherub Sitting next to me I couldn’t refuse After all it was oatmeal beer Easy on the stomach And fairly bland Taking a small sip He simply said It’s OK Gramps. His mother saw everything Reaching over She tapped me on the shoulder You shouldn’t be giving him beer Turning to her son And you Wyatt, you can’t do everything Grandpa does. And then the food came Sausage and Mash Meat Pie with Mashed Potatoes Fish and Chips And dessert, Lemon Tart Pudding. While we ate I asked Wyatt How were things in school? Fine Gramps. And I have lots of friends. Leaning towards me He whispered And you’re on my list. List, I asked? Yeah, a list of people I can always talk to And who are my best pals I’m honored Wyatt I really am I said. I didn’t say much after that Afterwards when we got back to the hotel My wife went to bed And I stayed up for awhile Thinking about this and thinking about that But I couldn’t hold back the pride When my ten-year-old grandson told me I was on his list.