Fugue for the First Grandchild

Amy and I are going to be grandparents.

Our daughter called to tell us.

It’s their first: he will be an itchy ginger.

But we can’t tell anyone yet.

The subject bobs up again:

Amy and I are going to be grandparents,

even as my mind tries to move on.

How can we not tell anyone?

What else is there to talk about?

Our chain is now connected to the future.

Amy and I are going to be grandparents:

we have handed over the magic beans.

I almost get away from it,

but it floats up like the answer

in a magic 8-ball:

Amy and I are going to be grandparents.

Amy and I are going to be grandparents.

I hope you haven’t heard:

that means someone we swore to secrecy

broke their oath like we did when we told them.

But the very fact that

Amy and I are going to be grandparents

keeps recurring like the pendulum

in my grandparents' grandfather clock.

We have lost our cool.

Who thought we'd get this old together?

Amy and I are going to be grandparents,

and we can't wait to tell everyone

how grateful we are.

At our age, some of the best are long gone,

along with some of the worst,

but Amy and I are going to be grandparents.