Even being a grandpa
He still wanted intimacy.
She didn’t, though, so
They slept in separate
Rooms, lay in separate beds
Under separate quilts and
Lay their heads on separate
Pillows. Everything separate
Like the toothbrushes. Sex
After fifty was simply taboo
And illogical to her way
Of thinking. Anyway, wasn’t
It a sort of intimacy each
Evening following supper
When they’d sit in their
Separate rockers and watch
TV together and comment
Aloud on the laugh lines, the
Actors, the outfits they wore,
Etc.? Barbara Stanwyck’s
Looking so old now! If that
Don’t show you how time
Flies… The one paid-for TV
Enjoyed a place of prominence
In the living room. The space
Heater would be warming the
Colonial-furnished room with
Its machine-woven oval rug
During the winter months
Which made it all nice and
Cozy. Doilies placed here and
There. Knickknacks. One of the
Children would drop in
Occasionally with their husband
Or wife and children. A snack
Might be enjoyed. No danger
The grandchildren would refrain
From asking for a few sweets.
Denying their requests was futile
Since they’d discovered over
Years past where practically all
The hiding places were. It was
American serenity, albeit earned
With hard work, sweat, tears, and
Frustration. Oh, quite a helping
Of laughter was served up, too.
That was American beauty. Home
Sweet home ‘mid pleasures.
Where are they today—that
Grandma? That grandpa? Old
Man! Why did you seek the
Neighbour for intimacy? Were
Your offspring and theirs not
Enough for you? They certainly
Were numerous. You made
People talk! Why did you need
That old intimacy anyway? Were you
Trying to stay human
Or something?