Einstein in California
Though his favorite playground
sat between his ears,
he loved the fat, easy days
of a California summer.
Swinging in a hammock in Alta Dena,
he couldn’t help but measure
the universe that had him trading
licks at the Bowl with Rodzinski
and belly laughs with Chaplin.
Flattered and feted, he calculated
the improbability of his fame,
the absurdity of the FBI in suits and ties
as they trailed him on the beach.
Later, watching the red ball of August
wade into Santa Monica Bay,
he surveyed the mass of grief
descending, his own escape,
and wondered at the fields of grace
which lace the galaxy.
Some miracles defy all understanding,
he thought. And happiness
demands no genius at all.