It is not like my
organized soul
to leave the Star Wars 
quilts in their ruffled way.

But those rumpled single beds
are like a vase of handpicked 
wildflowers wilting on the 
dining room table.

Those gentle hills and
valleys are landscape
where our grandsons
tried to make their beds.
                        

There is serenity in a globe of light
playing gin with my wife.
Then suddenly, a scene appears
and I’m carried back almost fifty years
to the breakfast nook where
Grandma and Grandpa are playing gin.
Coffee fragrance hangs like incense.

Grandma’s hazel eyes are bright,
the spark of laughter growing.
Grandma turns her card face down,
She already knows what Grandpa
is going to say. waves of laughter 
shake her small frame,
“Gin.”
Grandpa sputters with shock,
“We’ve only played four cards.”
“I know,” she’s bouncing with delight. 

“Any monkey could play those cards!”
Grandpa’s patent line
and now mine when my wife turns
her card face down.