Almost Forgotten Etiquette Lesson, Circa 1945
He thinks it probably happened in the fall.
"Or early Spring," he told me. "A time for sweaters.
Too soon--or late--for wasting coal. I recall
the chill. And my mother's reading Daddy's letters,
bare feet on a bare floor smelling of yellow soap.
I see the dust-motes twinkle around Mom's head
and I turn away, face sooty windows, and hope
she'll turn from her reading to slice that warm rye bread
before the train goes past our house: As I waved
to the man who always waves back, tooting his horn,
he smiled. Uh-oh! A passenger misbehaved
in the dining car, sticking out his tongue in scorn:
'How funny,' Mom says. 'That kid is going places
but ain't been taught to eat without making faces.'"
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