My folks have been grinning for eighty years
as they exit the church arm and arm
without a clue to the future after the war
where he commanded a battalion
of teen-age southern boys
to become bait for the Bulge
without their knowing.
My father farmed for his father,
raised oranges, grapes, and cattle,
and she three kids: boy scouts,
dance classes, trumpet lessons—
more than she really wanted.
And there they are
as I exit from the shower
still grinning without a clue.
drycrikjournal 