At the school playground we chat
while watching our grandsons.
From your accent,
it is obvious to me your southern roots
as I suppose my words
must sound Michigander to you.
The conversation I strike up
centers on your sweatshirt and ball cap.
You probably did not buy your
Crimson Tide apparel at a local store.
You ask me if I graduated from
Grand Valley State,
my own shirt a give-away.
But on a sunny spring day,
two boys playing together negates
all that sports talk especially when
we find out that both boys were born
Cinco de Mayo.
As our talk continues,
it progresses to questions on employment.
Me, retired.
You unemployed at the factory
where you were working
mostly third shift for 19 years
until it closed down
due to what we agree on
and Ross Perot coined a "giant sucking sound."
It is the same factory that brought you
north for a union job.
Now shuttered.
You indicate that your only options
seem to be fast food jobs
to help pay the bills
and afford the trailer park rent
for your mother-in-law provided
single wide.
Two boys playing.
your grandson a year older
struggling to ride my grandson's
training wheeled bike.
And today I wonder,
if it's because his grandpa
didn't have the money
to buy him one.
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