Grandpa

Your bald head is so smooth.

Smoother, than your walk when you send

laser beams of charm

towards all of the people around you.

Your bent-shouldered walk swaggers

to the tune of James Brown being constantly replayed

in your mind.

You are a jukebox of classics

and remembrance.

I’m happy to hum to you any time.

With you, wiping the counter becomes a game

of find the invisible, repulsive spot.

Like a self-conscious teen,

you become aware of everything, there or not,

and find each ‘unclean’ corner and eliminate them.

With cleaning supplies as your shield,

water as your soldier,

and a white rag as your army general and confidant,

you become the Muhammad Ali of germ fighting.

But it’s okay,

I’m happy to lift my plate for you, half-way through a meal.

You’re the rollercoaster that is the hottest anticipation of the summer.

Even though you have stayed the same for centuries,

people still stand in lines for you,

eager to explore you,

eager to tell your stories.

You are the experience that can never grow old, or boring,

like reaching the climax of a book,

while encased by warm pillows on a cold day.

If you were a toy, you’d be the Magic 8 Ball.

All I have to do is shake you

for a reaction.

All I have to do is shake you

for the answer.

So ‘outdated’ and yet all everyone wants to do

is trust you,

and replicate,

you.

You are my favorite beauty mark on my face,

permanent and forever a part of me.

You are the word that I giggle at every time I see it on a page.

You are the breeze that cools me down on hot days.

You are my favorite character in a book,

please, won’t you let me journey with you?

In case your bat ears didn’t hear me say it last time,

I love you.