You're one to believe in god,
so tell me Grandfather;
You believe everything has a meaning
and war can be righteous
and war can be hell.
What does the rain mean?

It's not a metaphor for pushing life
into the festering corpse of a beat horse
in the late fall, early winter, is it?
Is it a drowning of that mistake?
A bed to sink your imperfections into?
What is this grey sky speaking to?

Was it WW2's tail gunners dead in the back
and pilots swarming like flies in vicious harmony?
bloodthirsty dogfights, and the folk guitarists
standing in awe,
jaws unhinged,
mouths open,
wondering,
"What the everloving **** just happened?"

You believe in God, so tell me;
They stuck your body in the dirt
over 2, or maybe it was 3 years ago.
You never told me anything about this.
You never told me anything
but empty threats.
God is a mass hysteria;
a mental disability,
a harmful fantasy.

But what does the rain mean?

It’s funny
It’s strange
What things you remember
And what you don’t

If you asked me what I said to my aunt
When my grandfather died
That had upset her so much
Four years ago, I wouldn’t know what to tell you

But I’d know I felt guilty
It was probably something
About how we all knew she was playing it up
For attention

Which she was, but I still shouldn’t have said
What I did

If you asked me for a specific memory
From when I was four

I’d tell you about how
A dog bite me
And I had to get 13 stitches
And how my mom bought me soda after
Which was such a treat
Because I did such a good job sitting still
So they could sew up the wound

I’d even tell you that I bit first,
Because my grandfather thought
I’d understand his sarcasm
When he asked
“What do dogs taste like?”

(Hint: I didn’t understand,
Not at all)

It’s funny how
I can remember the time when I was 6
And I believed full heartedly in demons
And my mom came home late
So I momentarily believed
A demon had replaced her
(Thankfully, I quickly got over that delusion)

It’s funny how
I can remember making my cousin cry
When I was 14
And she was 7
By locking her in the bathroom
With the lights off
As I shouted
“****** Mary, ****** Mary, ****** Mary!”
Just to freak her out

But I can’t remember why I did
The things I have
I just remember the guilt

The guilt when I finally realized I could have
Seriously hurt the dog
And that she had been abused previously

The guilt of accusing my aunt

The waves of guilt
Crashing against me
When my cousin started sobbing

The relief of never telling mom
That I once thought a demon had
Replaced her

It seems
All I can remember about life
Are my regrets

My grandfather built a canoe when I was young
A handmade wooden canoe
A canoe thats never been used
He built that old canoe in an end of life crisis
A crisis brought on by quitting smoking
Now he lives in a home for people just like him
People who don't know they're in a home
And now he remembers that old canoe
But he doesn't know my name
How many people are jealous of canoes
And now I have to wonder if he made the wrong choice
The choice he made when he quit smoking
Because I would rather die of rotting lungs
Than live on while my brain rots

My Father's mother wrote me a check
And though she has a checkbook
with her name on it
From four years ago,
She sent me the decadent sum
of twenty-five dollars
On a slip of paper with a name
that was of her husband,
My Father's Father,
And still is.

When I look at this check pinned to my wall
I am reminded of the man,
The eighteen-wheeling man,
And how a few years ago I was afraid
and unamused
So I did not peek into his open casket.

It was a year since I had seen him,
And 'goodbye' escaped my lips (which were sealed
incredibly) until he was lowered.

I hope he went to heaven; if he did not
I am sure I will say 'hello'
After I cash this check,
But not yet.

Silver haired and pearly whites
You always gave good advice

Loving grandfather full of care
A family of dozens for you to bear

A Wise counselor in the school
Respect all life was a rule

A loving husband for 60 years
You far surpassed all your peers

Your kids are grown
And their seeds are sewn.

Go in peace dearest Myles
For you have made many Smiles

Generation gap, a beautiful distance
Epitome of TLC , a sweet sweet sense.
Grandpa’s stories about magical world
I sit fascinated in his arms curled.
On seeing me, his lips twitch a smile
His loving aura, leaves me beguile.
Albeit the gap, he understands me best
His laps are my favorite place to rest.
His eyes glitter up with joy,
With me he’s always frank, never coy.
Warmth from his hands makes me stronger,
He is getting old, I wish he stays longer.
How can any ever neglect them?
He is such a find, my own lucky gem.
When parents talk rude to him,
My eyes pool tears that one can swim.
They accuse him of not understanding,
Has daddy forgotten his days with him on the swing?
Grandpa gave up all for our good fortune,
Today they tell them their thoughts don’t anymore tune?
When I ask, momma calls it generation cap,
I believe with bad, they should roles swap.
This tired old soul soon won’t breathe anymore
The thought kills me, in pain I roar.
Grandpa is not a pain, you better understand
If in your old age, you want me hand.
Generation gap, a beautiful distance
Epitome of TLC, a sweet sweet sense.