Treasure Island

Willie Walker

(1941 / southern Alabama)

Grandpa


Grandpa was apt to play when Grandma was away.
She went to Florida with her siblings for to stay.
Grandpa shined his boots and donned a new white shirt.
He slicked down his hair and made sure his hat was square.

He brushed down the mules and cleaned the wagon wheels.
Then mounted the seat with a bound and rode off to town.
About midnight he reappeared. A sight he was to see.
Running hard with one gone shoe, into the house he fairly flew.

He grabbed his gun and loaded it, sure some husband would shoot him down.
He was afraid, but when Grandma left next time,
He would up and go back to town...

Submitted: Friday, November 15, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

True story of my most unforgettable character. Written while dreaming of my days as a youth in southern Alabama going fishing with Grandpa Gene Butts

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