Poem : Grandfather

My grandfather
The mild-mannered mechanic
Was the only grandfather I knew
He was my mother’s stepfather
And a good father was he
For even through the hard times he never stepped away
Blood relations mean nothing if they’re not willing to love
To listen
To understand
Enthralled as a child
I waited for the telling of stories
Stories from long ago
Of him helping men fly and soar through the air
One by one he put planes together
For the war fronts of a world at war
To be painted like tigers or perhaps Betty Grable
Anything to help the fighting men of the sky
With hands of skill my grandfather pushed cold metal wrenches
Spinning bolts down to an unmovable tightness
Years of this work left his hands scarred and rough
Easily felt
As he stretched out his hand to guide me through life
Teaching me right from wrong with his words of wisdom
His advice was always of the best kind
They say patience is a virtue
But the real virtue is giving more than you’ve taken
Guiding the ones that need to be guided
Setting examples by living for more than yourself
My grandfather, the mild mannered mechanic
Fixed all that was broken before him


Published at The Rainbow Rose 11-22-2011