Is sort of a five-alarm dumpster fire
And it is easy to write words
That reflect the defeatist mood
Confirm the devilish details . . .
But as we were saying our goodbyes
Standing at the curb in front of departures
You talked about newborn babies
Friends laughing together
Many hands lifting together
Engaged in cleaning up your dad's leavings
Made easier because there were friends
And friends showed up over and over
And lent a hand in myriad ways
And you thanked me for Tuesday
First thought puzzled me
The confused twinge of brow
Mid-embrace it went unobserved
I had been there helping on Thursday
Because Tuesday my grandson was born
The first for us
But pondering further I reassessed
And I think you did mean Tuesday
Even if you didn't mean Tuesday
Because Tuesday was a day of good
When we forgot the fires
And hate
And garbage
And just shared stories of babies
Coming into the world
Cute kid
Nice head of hair
A flicker of a smile
That we know is just gas
But we still call it his first smile
Because it is one more thing
One more beautiful living thing
To exist as purely joyous
Without qualification or justification
And the fountain of youth that flows forth
By just breathing in some newborn smell
Makes you grateful for a Tuesday
And old friends sharing new lives
