Writing poetry has been in the family for the past three generations– four counting this latest one.
I recall being about ten years old, following along with my dad, “shootin’ trouble” on the railroad. He would take a moment from time-to-time to educate his young son on the finer aspects of his work. In railroad switch houses, on more than one occasion, he explained what a relay was– it was a great improvement over the old manually-controlled railroad switches. His artistry was in his actions more than his words, and as a pre-teen, I never did quite understand what he was talking about. All I saw were glass jars and a seeming rat’s nest of electrical wires.
The years went by, and I had my own two boys and a career of “shootin’ trouble” in marketing and information technology. Now, I think I know what he meant about a relay.