The Ecb Poem by anais vionet

I'm Face-Timing with my Grandmère, we touch-base once a week. I love that face, wrinkled, like wind-weathered driftwood, and she's a wag. "Are you familiar with the ECB? " She asks.

I wince at this odd turn in conversation, "Not REALLY, " I say, searching my mental index of useless facts and cross-matching those with her interests, "the European Central Bank? " I reply. "Oui." she says.

"Let's see, " I begin in a bored voice, "Inflation - transitory or persistent? " I say, in my best TV news-reader voice. "No, " I chuckle, "Not really, I have REAL, boring-things I'm learning about."

"You'll need to - one day, " she says, like a tarot reading oracle.

"I can't imagine why." I said.

"I'm writing a few sentences about you! " I interject, to both change the subject and see what she says. She's the only one in the family who knows I write.

"Oh, " she sighs, "Am I young, immoral and reckless? "

"Yes, you ARE, " I assure her, "you're the worst."

"Good, she confides, "I miss those days."
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*Marriam Webster: a wag is a clever person prone to joking.