Because my father’s family
were pogromed out of Russia
and my mother’s family
were indentured servants from England,
settled in Little Rock, Arkansas.
Because my mother crawled north from Arkansas
to escape her alcoholic family, so naive
she took a job as a bar waitress in Gary, Indiana
before being smitten by my father.
Mom said: In Arkansas I made a wallflower shy;
No man ever looked me in the eyes like that.
Because my parents had a strange honeymoon
when an uncle played a trick and had them thrown in jail
for the first marriage night, guaranteed a different zygote.
Mom said: We thought it was a joke, out in an hour,
but the policeman didn’t free us till the morning.
Here because my mother did not discover
dad’s adultery until a few weeks after my birth,
which prompted Mom to leave town the next night.
Mom said: After you were born,
one of the barmaids brought me flowers
and told me your Dad was having an affair.
Uncle Bill and Aunt Eva took us in.
Now, our family celebrates the 75th birthday of my wife,
here because the 60’s exploded and two anti-War hippies fell in love.
We hug and sing as the sea wind blows
and drink and dance when it rains.
It could have been otherwise. It is fine
to praise chance, that small idol of probability
that birthed us all. We gaze on the blue Pacific
and wonder what happenstance may lead our grandsons
to marvel at such a scene, a precious future
in this perilous, beautiful world.
Originally published in Ariel Chart