In Mountain Lake Park

I saw for myself

that love still exists.

A look-a-like Gorbachev

caressed the back, arms

and shoulders of his wife.

His meaty hands of a butcher

were tough, but oh, so gentle.

The wife senses his shmuckaluvich

must have the itches, and she must

get ready to perform her wifely duty.

But she pays no heed to his rapt

attention, focusing instead

on their daughter who climbed

around monkey bars like Bomba,

the jungle girl.

Her long hair flowing,

this agile gymnast clambered

up to the top of the jungle gym

to flirt with my seven year-old

grandson who sat perched

on a ledge with his kid brother.

I overheard him in the garbled

speech of Stephen Hawking,

explaining the Big Bang theory

to Bomba, who looked a year older.

She listened with wide-eyed attention,

planting a quick kiss on his cheek

before descending below in a flash.

As her parents left the playground,

the husband arranged a play date

for his daughter so he could have his way

with his wife, sooner rather than later.