My Great-Grandfather’s Toes

My great-grandfather Josef,
At the beach in his three-piece,
The jacquard-owner and Jew,
His bunionned toes deep in sand,
His knuckled cane poking fun, hooked
Into the bathing-costume belt
Of his best friend;
Getting portly, kindly Otto,
The engineer and German.

Only in Cape May, New Jersey,
Only on a new-world shore,
Could Otto and Josef dare this—
Minds tethered in business,
(Innovation coupled to industry)
Hearts tangled in family,
(Only son married to daughter)—
Standing abreast: sunburnt, defiant,
Barefoot, and grinning.

And I recognize that grip,
That grin—those toes.
I recognize Josef’s foolish goodwill
As my own. And so, I am
Cut from the same velvet, but,
How could I have missed his faith?
This, that planted Josef and Otto, so
Dauntlessly close in the sand,
At the edge of the same abyss.