Watching My Grandson While You Are Away
Sleepwalking raindrops patter outside the window
like a child's feet on a wooden floor
as your little son approaches with sleepy eyes
where we so often would meet in the night and turn
one another back to bed with kisses
and reassuring words, both unconcerned
who is the parent, who the child.
Jerry Krajnak, a former altar boy and a Vietnam veteran who later survived forty-plus years in public school classrooms, now lives in an old mountain cabin that he shares with several rescue animals and, when lucky, an occasional grandchild or two. Over the last year, his poems have appeared or will soon appear in New Verse News, Plants and Poetry, Rat's Ass Review, Sublunary Review, I-70 Review, Barstow & Grand, SBLAAM, and other journals and anthologies.