Sunday 1968

Sunday morning 1968, awakening in
a wine colored antique bed. Grandpa
up early could be heard in
the bathroom, razor scratching like sandpaper
against his leathery skin.
Sheets pulled up
under my chin I can smell
the orange tree growing near
the clothes line
where Nana hangs the wash.
In the living room
the Grandfather clock
strikes the hour of nine.
Time to get up and
put on my Sunday best.
Ready I find Nana and Grandpa
waiting patiently
in the kitchen. No coffee
before mass they fuss and fidget
craving caffeine fasting is
required though
their fix will have to wait.
Nana wearing a blue
knee length dress
matching hat and veil.
Grandpa in a
black suit, white shirt
and black tie. We
climb into the old
gray Studebaker driving
the five blocks to mass. At
Annunciation we separate
Nana to find her favorite pew,
Grandpa to join the ushers and
I to join the other alter boys. Service
passes quickly, three guitars joined with voice
singing Alleluias and Hosannas praising
Christ and God the Father. My arm grows tired
serving communion to the faithful. Amen’s
and God Blesses follows
the priestly procession leaving
the sanctuary. Nana and Grandpa
wait at the car
stomachs grumbling anxious
for breakfast and the Sunday Times.