If instead he perches on his bed while
his grandson bolts through the room
toting a Mo Willems book and duck.
If chickadees seet. Or an owl speaks.
If pine warblers blur. If he won’t stir
to watch the birdbath from the corner
nook. If whippoorwill and still.
When it rains and petrichor doesn’t lure
him to the pitch pines. If full count
in the ninth and the Red Sox need a hit.
If he lists. If he squints. Before you lean
and whisper, Let go. He’ll send
signals, you’ll know.
From: http://www.theamericanjournalofpoetry.com/v8-cleary.html
Date: 2020
By: Eileen Cleary (19??- )
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