(for Andrew T.)
It should not have been in line at the DMV on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
Instead, thirty years from now,
as you slept in your comfortable bed,
pillow tucked beneath your knees,
your hand carefully resting beneath the slight curve of your wife’s hip,
dreaming of gondola rides down shimmering waterways,
a straw hat shading your eyes,
the kaleidoscope of your grandchildren’s weddings,
serenading the great grandbabies with your baritone,
kisses liberally applied to their kitten soft craniums.
It should not have been at the DMV.
It should not have been