The Kelley Reunion

Stiff as starch, awkwardly ancestral,
Grandma and Pa Kelly stare,
their Irish eyes unsmiling,
out of a dark daguerreotype.

Could they commence this straying flock?
Across church grounds, stranger cousins
gather at shady tables, buzzing
out of the heat, removing ties.

A tardy van pulls up, unloading
bouncy Flo, just divorced, who totes
one more bucket of cold fried
chicken, more watery tea.

Uncle Ralph, his quarry cornered,
gestures with a drumstick. Myrtle
spots bun-haired Bett in a tipsy crowd
sipping the vintage gossip.

A throat clears. Nominations
are open for next year’s officers.
Palms are lifted. Oscar, who only
came for free eats, is elected

President. Tom nudges him upright.
He nods above his plate, accepting,
elbowing his wadded napkin
onto the flattened grass.

An announcement. Talkers, eaters
press together, primping, posturing
for the hired photographer.
All ages, all sizes, all smiles.

Grandma and Pa never blink.

Event

Briefly mobile as water,
jealous of its prerogatives
on its downhill surge as
any herd, frost-loosed
mudstone lunges past forests
beneath, beneath–

                    –erosion’s
millennial abrasions (in
the seconds it takes to be
misunderstood) caught giving
way to that most human
obsession, impatience.

Carey Jobe is a retired attorney who has published poetry over a 45-year span.  His work has recently appeared in The Orchards Poetry Journal, The Lyric, The Road Not Taken, Pulsebeat Poetry Journal, and The Society of Classical Poets.  He lives and writes in Crawfordville, Florida.