I got my ya-ya from my mamma. In our family, it runs.
I was southern then. I had the affinity.

I had it before I was thirty.
In those days there was plate spinners on TV.

And berets.
And Bandstand as the pastime.

My spoon slid into Kraft macaroni from a box.
I ate ate it all up.

My parents lived nearby in another generation.
I didn’t know the name, Dien Bien Phu.

I didn’t know from severed ears except Van Gogh’s.
After a while, I wasn’t shocked anymore.

I grew loose.
It was too late to be astonished.