Fourth generation, his eldest son, now head of the firm,

two daughters well married, seven grandchildren,

all healthy with the clan’s smart genes,

summer cabin, a ski home condo, trusts in place,

shaded evenings just off golf courses,

two and a half martinis at eventide,

more friends than nights, model trains

like the real ones great grandfathers built

rail by rail on the backs of Chinese workers,

coin and stamp collections, guns in locked racks,

rooms wafting of curled pipes close at hand,

perfumes of unspoken affairs, mostly brunettes,

he once a boy in shorts and sneakers surveying

the ninth green, his mommy taking him by the hand

for lunch in the clubhouse, so cute he was,

now waiting for his third wife to finish sipping

a getting dressed drink before a flattering mirror,

a proud man rising on the toes of his tasseled loafers,

marveling, “What a joy life is!”


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