This poem is taken from PN Review 115, Volume 23 Number 5, May - June 1997.
Five Poems
Framed
(Sam Adcock, 1876-1956, and Eva Eggington, 1875-1970)
What shall we do with Grandpa, in his silver
frame? And why is he in it, may we ask?
Why not Grandma, still shyly veiled in her
tissue paper and photographer's cardboard?
Of course, there's his moustache: we can't miss that;
nor would he wish us to. It must have taken
hours and all his barbering skills to wax
and twirl the ends into these solemn curlicues.
We can't keep that in a drawer - or he couldn't.
But Grandma, now, in her black, nervously smiling,
one hand barely poised on the same ridiculous
Empire chairback: what a stunner she was!
Why did he not frame her? After all, her looks
...
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