Waiting for grandchildren (a)

“Could I speak to Mom, please?”
I handed the phone to my wife
Who had been hanging over my shoulder
So closely, I could hear her impatience.

Retired from teaching, I was
Finally hunting down my dream of
Writing for real.
Now here was child three
Probably hinting for money
For his next big thing
Or for fuel oil
(Cold on their farm in winter)
And I didn’t begrudge him and his girlfriend
Any help we could give
Because they were
Closer to their dreams
In their twenties
Than I was in my sixties.
And I —

“What?” She said, “You’re kidding!”

“When?” She said.

— I was not really getting anywhere
And there was no sign that we were
Ever going to have any grandchildren
If we were going to have any,
It looked as if we really would,
Strange as it may seem —

“They’re proobruumble!” she said.

— “What?” I said. “I didn’t quite — ”

“Pregnant.”

No fair.
That is a word that comes with blue skies
Trumpets, Drums, Jugglers, Elephants, Eagles and Pyramids.
I wasn’t ready;
I was caught off guard
Naked on the street
Sitting on the can
Somnambulistic
Narcoleptic
Somersaults, double-twisting-gaining-three-and-a-half in pike position
First prize in the lottery
Academy Award
Emperor
Archangel
Final reincarnation

The rest
As they say
Is History.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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