Holiday Poem

The meal is ready.
Grandpa sits at the head of the table.
Grandpa's right hand is Grandma,
she also has the seat of that honor.
Grandpa's left hand is Mom and the son he never had.
It is they that are responsible to keep the old man's future safe.
They sit in the seats that befall that honor.

The future sits on before him,
youth full piss and vinegar sit there.
My brothers and myself.

Table politics and chair priorities are learned each year this tradition unfolds.
Grandpa carves, Dad passes the dishes,
Grandma receives the praises,
Mom is the high chief and judge of the manners and conversation.

Grandpa sits at the head of the table, smiling over the events of the day. Heritage and memories passed on to be remembered in the future by the future.
This is the old man's feast. This is why the old man gives thanks.

I sit at the side of the table,
this is my place,
my home and my way.
Watch and learn is what I am told.
For in the future,
I will sit at the head of the table,
on this,
the most thankful of days.

The table is cleared.
Dishes washed and put away.
Naps come soon,
more stories and memories passed.
This is why,
on this faithful day,
we give thanks and praise the lord.
Together we stand,
divided we fall.
Family together on this most thankful day.
Company Of The Bread by Francis H. Higgins @FamilyFriendPoems

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