Sean In The Letter Poem by Francie Lynch

Love the name.
Got upset
When the man called out, 'Seen.'
Stupid man.
It's 'Sean, ' and not 'Shawn.'
A years older'n Gerald.
Two younger'n Kev.
Two older'n me.
That's Sean.
Daddy wrote home about us.
Maura was working at the hospital.
Sheila was finishing high school.
Kevin won the Science Fair.
Sean plays ice hockey with the All Stars,
All over Canada and the U.S.
I found that letter in '79. He penned it in '62,
In a European cursive. They all tend to write the same.
I've seen the words, rugrown together to hide the spelling;
With JMJ's and TG's sprinkled like manna throughout.
The last page was missing,
Just when Daddy'd write about Gerald, me, and Marlene.
Gerald with his 'Beetles' haircut.
Me, with the scars of home stitching on my scalp.
Marlene, the wee pigeon, he missed most working up North.
Jimmy, The Bruiser, wasn't here yet, isn't now.
The last of an Irish brood settled in Canada.
I discovered it in the spare room at Granny's and Frank's.
There was no mention of Michael, Eucheria or Particia.
He exaggerated about the harsh, six-month winters here,
And our proximity to the North Pole.
Suggested Frank try putting copper wires around Granda's wrists;
The Egyptian mummies didn't exhibit signs of osteo deterioration, or arthritis.
Daddy was hard-pressed to be proven wrong when he concocted.
Sean had a drawer full of ribbons, medals, trophies and plagues,
And a large 'S, ' his Senior Letter.
He also had sideburns, a much smaller nose, and, smelled
as good as he looked,
The Elvis dip-curl, the Connery swag, the Selleck stash to Clooney cool.
Sean kept a disposition of hidden pains secreted for others.
A heart of tears.
A spirit of adventure.
I love Sean, as I recall.
He is always welcome here.
Drops by every couple years.
It's always a great surprise.