My Grandson Reid

My Grandson Reid

When my grandson Reid is really happy,

He says, “Happy!”

You have to understand,

The “h” is unsounded,

It’s breathless,

Like the softest “ha”,

Grandma was holding him on her hip,

Reid was staring at a restaurant worker,

The lady behind the counter was making someone else a mocha coffee,

Whipped cream was being piled upon top of the steaming liquid,

When the chocolate was drizzled,

Reid breathed,

Almost an imperceptible,

Whispered (and through a smile),

“Happy-e-e-e-e!”

This boy is the spirit of happiness,

If you find him otherwise,

(Just like his grandpa),

Give him food,

Even better,

Give him cake,

“Happy-e-e-e-e!”

Peter Lowell Paulson

August 2, 2014