Five Grandpas Poem by Hm. Nes

‘Hear-hear! I'll drink to that! ' cried five grandpas,
Each offering up a toast to his own cause,
Five different causes, yet all quite the same;
Though no one knew the nature of my game.
Five grandpas who before this day set sail
Had never met nor shared a drink or tale.
Each one of them born to a different clan,
No two of them had come from the same land,
But sitting now together in my den,
Each grandpa's task the same: Help grandson win,
By telling tales about his family's past,
Inspiring tales of things most sure to last-
A legacy for this generation,
United, to form then one great nation,
As well establishing his grandson's cause,
A good cause meant to gain the most applause
Among his people, his own blood and kin.
(And this is where the grandpas made me grin.)
They each assumed his own grandson would lead
A separate land with those of his own breed;
For none imagined his grandson to rule
With myriad peoples all in one great pool.
The light would shine and thus the race be won
On one trail blazed by one grandpa's grandson.
And how, you ask, did this odd group of men
Thus find themselves together in my den?
I called them from the dead to help me pick
One grandson: Newt, Mitt, Rick, Barak or Rick,
For president of these United States,
To list among the all-American greats.
You should have heard the tales these grandpas told,
But seldom few have witnessed tales so bold.
Compelled was I to cast not only one,
But five votes, one for each noble grandson.
And as the stories ended with the toasts,
Such grandiose displays of humble boasts,
I let the other shoe drop, so to speak,
And told them, 'This is what your grandsons seek:
All five desire one office, each the same,
And only one will win, one prize to claim,
To represent the people of one land
As Mr. President, not near so grand
As 'Highness, ' 'Majesty' or 'Holiness'.
And he must sort through mishap after mess.
'Grandpas, ' I said, 'each of you has done well.
'Your genes and grit have prepped these men for hell.
'Because of you, ' I said, 'your grandsons rise
'To president, or some more noble prize.
'Forgive me, please, but could you be so kind
'And offer one last thought that's on your mind?
'To speak to your own grandson, if he'll hear.
'Say something true as if he happened near.'
Apostle Parley Pratt was first to speak:
‘I moved to Mexico, across the creek,
‘With all 12 wives, too many kids to count.
‘I hope, dear grandson, you don't keep us out,
‘By building some great wall that bars our way
‘To freedom. We do love the USA.'
Next, Icy Abels stood and made his speech:
'The Choctaw people will no promise breach!
'This land is great with plenty for us all,
'But please do not insist there be a wall
'That keeps our people from the fish and game,
'Confining us inside to fleece men's shame.'
Awkward and hunched, Pietro kept his seat,
And clenched a lit cigar between his teeth.
'I'll take another shot, ' he said. 'Don't mind
'If whiskey, gin or rum. Yes, brandy's fine.
'I'll kill myself and thank-you to let me choose
'The way I please. Pass me more of that booze.'
The silence told me Pietro was quite through;
Though I had hoped for more, I let him stew.
'Johann, ' I said, 'what do you have to say? '
'I like women, ' he said. I said, 'Okay.
'Is that all you wish to communicate
'To your grandson? ' 'That's all, ' he said. 'It's late.'
Of the five grandpas summoned to my den,
Just one was left to speak. He took a pen
And wrote his words I leave you here to read.
He wrote them without pause and with great speed.
‘My name is Onyango. To my grandson,
‘I could not be more proud of what you've done.'