Poem for my Grand-dad (first draft)

I don’t believe in heaven
but if I did
we’d meet
on bar stools
in Bob Martin’s
down on Conway Street

I’d order sarsparilla
and you
a ginger ale
and listen long
while you and Bob
swapped a few tall tales

I guess this is my heaven
no ultimate
rewards
just a simple
thought of long ago
and my hand clasped in yours.

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4 comments

  1. I liked this a lot. I rather envy writers of verse and you definitely have that honed skill. I was just wondering, as I think you mentioned ‘closure’ in your About section, do you write other stuff, keep a journal, diary, dabble in fiction etc.?

    Liked by 1 person

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