Grandmother played Solitaire.
Cat looked on intently,
cards moved,
coffee sipped without care.


Memory of her hair combed gentle,
but her voice raised with me,
hidden, laughing vehemently.


“God damn you,” She gave up.
“I’ll call your dad" She said,
hang up then pretend to talk.


Always ready to watch a ball game,
worked each day, tireless dedication.
A McDonald’s janitor age eighty-one.


Two hundred degrees, far too hot
liquid frustration of coffee too common
cup with lid, spilled through the top
the cane held in hand,
walkin’ and stompin’.


On Christmas she finished
a jug of wine glass after glass.
Wine consumed but just as in everything
she felt fine, never alone,
never doomed.