Fugue #132

I hear
that the measure of things are motion and wheels
that the vessel of time is a train.

Gene finished reading the poem, and looked at his grandfather. His grandfather looked back, pleasantly.

- Well?
- Well, what, kid?
- Was it ok?
- It was ok. It was better than ok. It was good.
- It was good?
- Yeah.
- Good like...good?
- I dunno, Gene. I studied business. The only poems I know are the famous ones - Hiawatha, The Road Less Traveled, Robert Frost. And some other things your grandma read to me in college.
-Oh.
- Let me finish. It was good. I’m not an expert, but it was good. The words made sense, but still created a new place, and took me there. And isn’t that what you wanted to do? That poem was you. I know you, I’ve known you since you were born, kid. And that was you. I’m happy that you shared part of yourself and your world with me.

Gene stared into his hands.