Nineteen fifty-six was a year of radical change
for a six-year-old Irish lad,
who was clad head to toe in wool,
that had been dyed and spun last season with loving care.
Wool just like that which had been sheared
from the forty-five sheep he shepherded just weeks ago,
with his now departed Da, warmed his broken heart.
Dozens of freckles sprinkled across every bit of his face,
glowing pink from the reflection of this lad's red hair,
now sitting in his grandfather's kitchen in a home in America.
He felt a bit uncertain when Seanathair said, " Call me Granda,"
and so this little guy's life in America began.
His very first breakfast in this strange new house,
which smelled of sweet buttered spice
from the tobacco of Granda's pipe,
was not the traditional fare ma cooked;
bacon, sausages, baked beans, eggs, mushrooms,
grilled tomatoes and some cooked leftover potatoes
made into a hash or what was known as bubble and squeak,
with toast, butter, marmalade, and lots of tea to drink.
No, sir, it was something altogether uniquely American!
Granda put out two white porcelain bowls,
two spoons, and two cups of frothy chilled milk
he retrieved from his icebox.
He sat all this at the four-cornered wooden table
alongwith a box that read Cocoa Puffs -
taking the box he poured a healthy serving of
dark brownish balls into each bowl,
then poured milk topping off the bowl.
To the grandsons' utter amazement, a sweet, crunchy,
puffed cereal, infused with Hersey's cocoa
soaked in milk transformed before his very own eyes,
where chocolate milk remained in the bowl as he ate the little puffs.
When both the bowls were reduced to just the chocolate milk
Granda gave the boy a wink and nod and said, "Do this,"
as he proceeded to pick up the bowl and slurp the chocolate
milk from the bowl, and the lad followed his directions.
While the lad sat there thinking, Wow,
chocolate for breakfast;
I am going to like it here just fine!
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