Friday, April 22, 2016

Ode to Grandpa (because I miss him)

Bernhardt Lindemann (Grandpa). . .

rickety, tittering old fool

balanced himself precariously in a rusted iron chair

perched on his decaying central Texas porch

and refused to abandon his crotchety existence.

(My kind of hero.)

spit his brackish black chewing drool

into the fifteen year-old metal coffee can beside him,

while I wondered if "Tex-Sav" coffee

could even still be bought.

sneered at the Austin August sun

which couldn’t convince him to shed his full-length over-alls

for something more modern and ventilated.

Not that I held much hope after July had failed again that year.

sonared his big soft spotted ears in on the Georgia

weatherman cooing preach tree blossom indexes,

and pretended he didn’t hear Grandma yelling.

grinned confusion when Mom became indignant

after I’d had one too many of his cure-all lemon drops.

pomised me that a girl like me

could was strong enough to do anything she wanted

so long as she learned to read and loved to learn.

insisted I learn to cry inside like him,

and that the first three letters of funeral

always spell fun.

I just wasn’t ready or willing to test that one.
My Grandpa Lindemann with my Uncle Buddy and my Mom circa 1955ish.  He wore the same brand of overalls for 50+ years.

*A previous version of this poem is featured a collection of poems, The Nightshade Lexicon: 

A complete book of worthless poetry for the common hominid. Available on Amazon for $0.99 or Free in Kindle Unlimited.

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