The first thing I’ll say in this discontent
letter
is that things have improved. You’re doing much better.
When I was a boy in Nebraska and Kansas,
I had Granddad Harder and Grandma Biehl. That was
so very formal,
utterly normal.
Nowadays, you’re more creative,
just a bit less imitative:
Nana, Nonnie, Meemaw, and Oma;
Popo, Poppy, Pawpaw, and Opa.
But I take you to task.
Was it too much to ask
For a small innovation,
a cool appellation,
a favor so small,
the nickname GrandPaul?
How that would look on the front of my cap!
Instead, you messed up; it was such a mishap.
I got Paul.
That is all.
But there is consolation.
When my youngest relation
arrives and, seeing my face,
wraps me in a firm embrace
and shouts, “Paul!”,
I get allis that things have improved. You’re doing much better.
When I was a boy in Nebraska and Kansas,
I had Granddad Harder and Grandma Biehl. That was
so very formal,
utterly normal.
Nowadays, you’re more creative,
just a bit less imitative:
Nana, Nonnie, Meemaw, and Oma;
Popo, Poppy, Pawpaw, and Opa.
But I take you to task.
Was it too much to ask
For a small innovation,
a cool appellation,
a favor so small,
the nickname GrandPaul?
How that would look on the front of my cap!
Instead, you messed up; it was such a mishap.
I got Paul.
That is all.
But there is consolation.
When my youngest relation
arrives and, seeing my face,
wraps me in a firm embrace
and shouts, “Paul!”,
happy again.
Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons
BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment