Grampa? A Tribute To Fathers (Especially The 'Ol F**ts) Poem by David Whalen

Grampa?

It’s a question usually posed with an inquisitive frown
On an angelic face with large, limpid eyes
And whatever I’m doing, I stop and put down
Peer sagely over bifocals and look grandfatherly wise

“Can you fix this grampa, ” shy tentative pleas
Red plastic toy held out in soft delicate fingers
Tear tracks on pink cheeks, scraped, dirt darkened knees
Touches deep to my heart, on child’s face my gaze lingers

Sad, liquid eyes under brows scrunched and worried
Timid, flowerlike smile slowly blossoms on small face
My broken toy examination, slow and unhurried
Parts and pieces put back together with exaggerated grace

Rose bud lower lip, bitten by tiny white teeth
With young brow furrowed with intense concentration
A wondrous thing, this childhood belief
Mouth morphs to O shape in amazed celebration

Grampa’s done it again, that ingenious ‘ol geezer
By fixing the toy has come through in the clutch
I’m arthritic, and smell funny and I’m a puffer and a wheezer
A pushover when she whispers, “gramps I love you so much”

A huge happy hug and a loud sloppy kiss
On grey bearded, prickly cheek
These things I’ll treasure and will too soon miss
When no longer ‘ol grampa they seek