Pop Pop

A memory of my grandfather.

He smells of trees

and cigarettes

and chocolate-covered mints.

And his belly is large,

and his face is scruffy,

and his clothes are soft and warm.

 

His skin is brown,

and the knees of his jeans are worn,

and his hands are big and calloused;

All from working in his garden,

or hiding Easter eggs,

or fixing cars.

 

And his eyes are closed

with his glasses still on

and the newspaper in his lap

while his one hand rests on his coffee cup

and the football game plays in the background.

And his snore rumbles like thunder

through the commentary

that my cousins shout.

Reviews

[shallimarRose]

I had to come visit when I saw your title.. This made me tear up.. We called my grandfather pop-pop as well.. He always smelled of a cigar.... loved this tribute.. xo shallimarRose

[Xayah]

Thank you very much. I'm glad it meant something to you, too.

[shallimarRose]

Absolutely touched my heart.. ty Rose

[Everett DeValle]

I Love this! The memory is so vivid...your poem put me in this memory...really lovely.

[Xayah]

Thank you very much!

[Everett DeValle]

You are very welcome.