A classy kind of car ride:
1950's radio station at a comfortable volume.
10 minutes later and we arrive.
Sun block on.
Sneakers tied.
Water bottles in hand.
Round and round the lake we go.
Just he and I.
The sun is yellow
The grass is green
The sky is blue
All the colors in their rightful place.
It's more like a walk filled walk
than a talk filled walk,
but that's the way we like it best.
No small talk here.
Just big talk for us:
the speed of light,
the start of humanity,
the purpose for our existence.
Otherwise, we just walk
oh and sometimes we jog too...
(His legs are long,
so sometimes I have to jog
in order to keep up.)
We have our own routine
our own system
our own pace.
Just he and I
Just he and I
This poem is dedicated to my grandpa, my walking buddy
