My grandson brandishes his Lego sword,
and in seconds we’re overboard —
cutthroat pirate and armored knight drown-
ing in an ocean of black oilcloth thrown
over an end table. In no time, I drift
back to my son’s childhood years I’d missed,
while he, a father alone for the day, catches up
away from his son. Mid the drama, high-sea,
my grandson announces he’s hungry.
He wants fish sticks and chips with ketchup,
TV — his pick of villains and super heroes.
I give him just what he wants. He gives
me a hug, says he doesn’t want to go
home, where no mother lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem