I’m at a family wedding this weekend.
Hence, the 150 million poems —
I’m up hours before anyone else,
And I’m engaging in my much-loved pastime
Of writing while watching people
In a hotel lobby.
You see a surprising amount
Of good will in a hotel;
Both from guests and
The people who work there.
Young girls walk by
And smile at my old fat man self;
It might be the Mickey Mouse shirt.
Or maybe people are nicer than
I often imagine them to be.
I’m easily pleased,
That common feature of grandparents everywhere.
Both my grandsons are here;
Happy to see me in such a
Strange, unfamiliar place.
Kids make sense to me,
Adults less often do.
I’ll be headed back alone in a few hours;
The beautiful one will be going back
With our daughter to do some shopping.
It strikes me, rereading this so far,
That literature (even poetry)
Typically is supposed to have
Things happen in it.
Sorry about that.