Thanking is complex, reflecting, often,
What didn’t happen as much as what did.
Dad fled Poland, escaped Nazi coffins,
(But not to Somalia, dank, fetid
Dump!) Thankfully, I’m U. S. born, the sum
Of what he did and didn’t do. (Sweden
Might have been a better place—less fierce thrum
Of power—cool, socialistic Eden.)
Our choice of thinking over sweat worked out;
Our kids are talented, and not in jail;
Living at the beach in a paid-for house,
A fair reward in this disordered vale.
Our lucky genes bloomed free of gnarly twists,
And timely DOBs slipped us through wars.
We earned enough to happily subsist,
And travel spawned diverse, revealing lore.
What shall we thank? Our forebears’ energy!
Our wit and work! Not some mythology!
(12/25/07)