His Name Was Stan - Poem by Alison Cassidy
A gentleman he was, indeed -
and handsome too,
despite the teeth
(too bright, too white)
when he smiled.
He'd been a good looker
I'm sure, in his day.
Tall and shapely
with chiseled cheeks
and that faintly deferential manner
of one who has followed orders.
He was sitting on the couch
when we arrived,
surrounded by birthday barbecue buzz.
He cradled a small pink bundle in his arms -
his old hands patting, rhythmically
(and ever so fondly)
the new great grandchild.
His eyes were far away -
a time long ago,
when he was denied
such a feminine expression
There was something compelling about him -
the unconscious grace
of nearly ninety years.
His name was Stan.
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