At the Races

1.
Once
My grandfather rode horses.
(This was the other grandpa
My delicate, dignified
Diabetic grandpa--
Not the raucous healthy
Grandpa whose voice
Now lingers in my ears.)

2.
They described him at the funeral.
A great engine of a man
Astride a glorious black horse
Or galloping into the burning factory
To flee, arms full of files
The forms to pay his workers:
An honest man. Like a hero
Bursting from legend.
And quite different from
The man I knew.

3.
A year ago he rode a different horse:
A great skeletal beast
Thundering into the sunset
Winner of a race in which
My other grandparents ride...

4.
Who's next? Who's next?
Who comes in second place?
The bettors clamor at the racetrack
Begging for an answer--
I hesitate. The race is
Everchanging, odds shifting--
My grandmother knees her horse
Speeding ahead, decrepit
In mind as in body.
My grandfather falls behind, his horse
Slower but unpredictable.
The odds are higher, but he may
Yet win this gruesome race
To crash his horse
(his car, his mind)
Across the finish line...

(Shall I be damned for wishing
That this wait would finally end?)