My grandfather stops by from the grave
none the worse for wear
trailing Philip Morrises and Dobler Ales.
He’s decided to resume his stint as blacksmith
figuring an entre into what many are calling
The Second Coming of Steam.
Steam locomotives - huge, black, hissing -
are being redeployed;
tracks laid in the mountains.
Mid afternoons, I join him on the wrought-iron bench
in the middle of the vegetable garden.
A young weeping willow shadows us.
A local theater troupe stops by
and gives us the thumbs up.
My grandfather offers them Doblers
then launches into a re-enactment of Act 2 Scene 4 of Henry IV:
Do thou stand for my father
and examine me upon the particulars of my life.
They assure him there will be plenty of time for that.
I try to explain but am shushed by the audience.
At the Clinique counter
I can see my image in the mirror
between my daughter’s and the Clinique rep’s.
The Clinique rep’s skin is as white and smooth as steam.
I begin to believe in the Second Coming.
I begin to hope for the Second Coming.
My daughter and the Clinique rep discuss foundations.
I mention that I prefer poured foundations.
