The Picnic
by Michael Escoubas

Soon the Grandkids will arrive,
too sugar-charged to control,
but there’s no fun in corralling
them … what could be better
than soft grass, blue blanket
trimmed in white fringe, pickles
in a jar, cinnamon bread,
and grapes, Gala apples, iced tea,
shouts and giggles of kids
pushing, shoving, throwing Frisbees,
out-of-breath from play … they
finally slow down, drop down on
their knees beside the picnic lunch
Grandma brought … this place,
destined to be sacred in memory,
when they are old and have
arthritic knees and will do anything,
go anywhere, bear any pain,
for moments such as these.



 

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