My Little Pony makes me think of papaw.
Weekend visits with Saturday cartoons,
We’d sit in the living room together and watch tv
Or read the newspaper.
He’d whistle so softly that my ears would strain to hear it.
Then he’d fall asleep and small snores left him in
Tiny puffs of breath.
The newspaper lay forgotten in his lap.
Eventually, he’d wake up and try to act as though
He’d been awake the whole time.
“That one is Applejack, right?” he’d ask
And although it was obviously Fluttershy,
I would ask playfully if he watched it when I wasn’t there.
But, overtime
The snores darkened
And the breath more shallow.
I began to listen more to his breath than the show,
And watch the rise and fall of his chest instead of the screen.
I waited on edge for him to wake up.
And he would.
Except, he stopped waking up last year.
His snores evaporated
And his breath died.
And with that,
So did my love for my little pony.