I leaned forward
as I sat down
My shirt was wet with June –
from running afternoon
suburban errands
in a weak AC’d old car
still leaking freon
into the ultraviolet ozone hole
between
God’s green earth
and her nearest
star.
I leaned forward
as I sat down
in the big old armchair,
trying hard to avoid any
human contact
with good upholstery –
as my mother might want,
but never expect,
from her husband-dear
after a long day
of hand-nailed carpentry
on the lime hills near
the lake.
He smiled,
eyes wide –
like yours and mine
once were –
and came up close,
his face to mine,
to get a better look
under my cap,
then went to play
with the small toys
and puzzles on the
green-pegged lego table
beside his mother.
She encouraged him.
Hey buddy,
let’s show grandpa andy
the book we found
at the library.
Amesy, Ames!
Where is your book?
Where’s your new story?
Maybe it’s in the car -
or still outside?
Should we look?
He turned, nodded –
smile, yes-but uncertain.
She encouraged him.
Amesy, Ames
Let’s go look
together.
Let’s find your story.
Come with me –
hold my hand.
Let’s go look.
It was a short story;
full of color –
a poet’s biography.
