To Madeline at Seven (from Grandpa)

Before the world takes you away to keep

you to itself, and others take my place 

at center-stage, I will be stuffing bags of

everything that’s you, until it happens, like

the silly knock-knock jokes, the little pranks

you telegraph beneath a covered impish grin,

the roles you have me play in staging ordinary

lives of unheroic people, grandpa’s goofy

words that make you laugh, and close to best

of all your joining me in singing a duet of

silly antiquated tunes like “Don’t Bring Lulu”.

I’ll know my cue the time I’m due to take a bow

and step aside. I must admit in writing this, I’m

broken-hearted in advance, and I can hear you,

dearest reader, saying I’m a maudlin poet if a poet

actually.  I have to say I may not be, but nonetheless

I’ll challenge every one of you to lose your cell

phones, keep your wits and take a deeper breath –

before you say I’m maudlin after meeting Madeline.