Vendetta
08-16-2003, 12:03 AM
little plastic car
He never aged in my eyes.
He was always the same.
I didn’t believe the photograph
Of Grandpa, in his youth,
With his hair combed slick,
And no color in the film.
That Photograph,
In the silvery frame,
On the old oak dresser,
In the back of his bedroom,
Which smelled strongly of cedar,
Was surrounded by coins,
Colognes and handkerchiefs,
Dust covered and sun-bleached.
A little plastic car
Sat in a treasured place.
I gave him that little trinket
Long before the days that I can remember,
Telling him to keep it
And always remember me
Whenever he saw it.
And he did keep it,
Like a wedding ring.
But now, it is my turn
To keep the little plastic car
And always remember him
Whenever I see it.
He never aged in my eyes.
He was always the same.
I didn’t believe the photograph
Of Grandpa, in his youth,
With his hair combed slick,
And no color in the film.
That Photograph,
In the silvery frame,
On the old oak dresser,
In the back of his bedroom,
Which smelled strongly of cedar,
Was surrounded by coins,
Colognes and handkerchiefs,
Dust covered and sun-bleached.
A little plastic car
Sat in a treasured place.
I gave him that little trinket
Long before the days that I can remember,
Telling him to keep it
And always remember me
Whenever he saw it.
And he did keep it,
Like a wedding ring.
But now, it is my turn
To keep the little plastic car
And always remember him
Whenever I see it.