Oh so ordinary

Oh so ordinary  
is a hot summer night  
when the whirl of a fan  
is music in the dark  
accompanying   
croaking frogs  
in the distance  
oh so ordinary  
is waking to a glowing  
herald of break of day  
and the frogs   
now deep asleep  
and quiet  
oh so ordinary  
an electric coffee pot  
percolating   
as a toilet is flushed  
and a faucet lets go  
cool morning water  
oh so ordinary  
a day goes by  
in a rush  
while someone  
in a market
stacks oranges  
and red apples  
and peaches  
and apricots   
in perfect rows  
oh so ordinary  
that someone  
pushes the wheelchairs  
and lines them in  
a large room  
perfect rows  
and there they sit  
oh so ordinary  
memories of  
a seasick morning  
on a day called D-Day  
and another of  
a train station farewell  
and that was that  
he never returned  
and another  
of sawing two by fours  
under a cloudless blue sky  
in a backyard   
of a tiny two bedroom house  
in East L.A.  
and another of  
a wedding day in 1942  
with just a week   
before that train farewell   
and I still feel the rice  
a handful my brother threw  
as if it were yesterday  
and another of  
peeling an orange  
near a stream  
in the mountains  
in that beautiful place that  
just right now  
I don't seem  
to recall  
but I can still  
taste  
that orange.