’Twas the Morning of Second
‘Twas the morning of Second when all through the house
A mother was weepy and so was her spouse.
The lunchbox was tucked in the backpack with care
In hopes that all would be eaten in there.
The child was sprawled all over his bed
While visions of juiceboxes danced in his head.
And Mark with his mug and I with my glass
Had just settled down to brood until class.
When out of my throat there arose such loud weeping
Mark ran from the room to keep the boy sleeping.
Then away to the Kleenex he flew like a shot
And pulled out several sheets to stopper my snot.
When what to my overflow’d eye should appear
but the writing of a note in the hand I hold dear.
With letters and numbers so fine and so true
I knew in a moment this, too, we’d get through.
More rapid than axles, his legs and his brain,
when he whistles and tootles and calls them by name:
“Now Caltrain, now Coaster!
Now Amtrak and Zephyr!
On subway, on trolley!
On MUNI and Sprinter!
To the split of the siding
To the end of the line
Now chug away chug away
Now chug away fine!”
He is spindly and tall, all arm and all leg.
And he grins when I cook him his breakfast of egg.
A hug of my waist and a kiss on my cheek
reminds me at once: growing-up’s not all bleak.
He springs to his Burley, to his Dad gives a shout
And away they both bike, intent on their route.
But I hear him shout back ‘ere they ride out of view
“I hear a bombardier train, and oh, yeah, I love yooou! “