04-27-2013, 07:37 AM
Grandpa lumbers in his smoker's chair
and wonders at the telly, shifts and
scowls and grumbles at the telly.
It's spring soon and I find the
quiet comfort in my Lego blocks,
each piece connects so cleverly;
plastic molded playschool colors.
Is that the whippoorwills that
whispers drapes aside? To let
inside the jingle of a thousand metal
bootstraps as they chant along
the streetsides "on to war! On
To War!" as their chanted mantra
cadence breaks the curtains
of our household "on to war!
On To War!"
Gramps is struggling in a panic
with the lever of his chair as he
sees little Leidra gaping
at the curbside, gasping in surprise
at all the pounding soldiers
and the flags that they carry
and the hats that they wear
and the rifles that they carry
and the gripless consternation
at the faces that they wear
and hypnotic pounding
of the boots against the pavement
and the faces that they wear
that look a lot like Jimmy's
and the flags that they carry.
But Gramps has stumbled
to the window and he's forced
the outside out. He scowls
away the visage of his temporary
panic, mutters half-thought
stories of another zealot crazy
who is brought away to safety,
taken into custody to assure our
safety, not absconded in the night
like our sense of solitude.
The phone will ring soon,
Gramps will hush to answer
and he'll scowl away the panic.
The ring will sound like
whippoorwills that whisper
drapes aside.
and wonders at the telly, shifts and
scowls and grumbles at the telly.
It's spring soon and I find the
quiet comfort in my Lego blocks,
each piece connects so cleverly;
plastic molded playschool colors.
Is that the whippoorwills that
whispers drapes aside? To let
inside the jingle of a thousand metal
bootstraps as they chant along
the streetsides "on to war! On
To War!" as their chanted mantra
cadence breaks the curtains
of our household "on to war!
On To War!"
Gramps is struggling in a panic
with the lever of his chair as he
sees little Leidra gaping
at the curbside, gasping in surprise
at all the pounding soldiers
and the flags that they carry
and the hats that they wear
and the rifles that they carry
and the gripless consternation
at the faces that they wear
and hypnotic pounding
of the boots against the pavement
and the faces that they wear
that look a lot like Jimmy's
and the flags that they carry.
But Gramps has stumbled
to the window and he's forced
the outside out. He scowls
away the visage of his temporary
panic, mutters half-thought
stories of another zealot crazy
who is brought away to safety,
taken into custody to assure our
safety, not absconded in the night
like our sense of solitude.
The phone will ring soon,
Gramps will hush to answer
and he'll scowl away the panic.
The ring will sound like
whippoorwills that whisper
drapes aside.
