at seven years old, the neighbor’s grandson
has only one conversational opener—
“Guess what?” begins and connects
each shiny bead
on the long line
of that day’s events
I look up from my book on the porch,
from weeding the garden,
or getting out of the car,
coming home from work,
or really, doing anything at all outdoors
And he is there, ready to tell me all.
The school year is new and bright
and memorable, full of things to say
all beginning
Guess what?
So I do
Puff Of Smoke Poems 