late arrival

The sun was forgotten
when the boys arrived
the younger fuzzy
draped sleepily over
his father’s shoulder,
the older just antsy
from the confines
of the booster seat.

Always such journeys
end at night with
uncertain entry into
a semi-familiar house
full of strange rules
and different food.

Grandparents have
infinite patience
but it’s limited,
stretched by disappointments
enriched by surprises:
a bird is still a bird
a blank page still needs
pencil lines and crayons;
love is still unconditional
but different from home.

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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: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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