Is not my grandfather Joe, but it's close;
The mustache is dead right and the face
Could belong to a much older brother
With whom Joe would have fought
Because they were too much alike.
(His genuine brothers were tall and gentle
They weren't dapper or fiery and they slouched
Having no need to make the most of every inch.)
It's startling to see Joe's eyes here, his head-tilt;
The picture was taken in 1926, so Joe's wife
Has not yet slipped on ice, has not died
Having a baby just far enough along to live.
When I knew my grandfather, he posed
Just this way for a picture, his right hand
Parallel to the knife-straight seam of his pants
His left held breast-high, fingers slightly clawed
Reaching for something or warding something off
Or making a signal and expecting no answer.
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