FAMILY REUNION

BACHELOR UNCLES ON THE VCR 

My two seventy-year uncles

are waving to the video camera

while everyone around me is yelling,

It's Dick and Dave, like we'd just dropped in

to visit them, but all I can think is, Jesus,

it's almost forty years, yet everything's

about the same: even the tilted table-top

Dave keeps straightening

as he shuffles around, describing

the furniture, the rooms,

the way things are.

                                    Dave's ruddy, loud,

like a talkative indian. You'd' think

being followed around by someone

with a camcorder for a head

would throw him, but it doesn't. He's too

good-natured. He knows how TV works.

Look at him, waving, chatting us up.

Like a game-show contestant.                                                                                                                                     Dick's

different. He's quiet, soft, like my mother.

He'd like you to think he's listening to Dave,

but he's not. He's off somewhere,

visiting. Every once in a while,

he'll suddenly remember us,

and look up at the camera lens

as though he could see us, hunched inside,

like astronauts. Like now: that little

smile. He’s onto us. He knows

we’re up there, drifting out and

then back in. Watching him.