My Old Pop

In that little shack you see
Out there in the bay
Me and my old Pop came there
Nearly every weekend we’d stay.

We’d fish out of the windows,
We’d fish out of the doors,
We’d fish off the rough-hewn dock
We’d fish along the shore.

If lucky, we’d catch enough fish to fry
At the end of a long hot day,
Then we’d lean back in our lawn chairs
And look out across the bay.

We’d watch the seabirds swooping low
Diving for fish as quick as a sigh,
Calling out their strange bird calls
White wings floating against a lovely blue sky.

My old pop had a memory like a recorder,
And loved to tell stories about his life
He told me a story grandpa told to him
Of how grandpa chose grandma for his wife.
(He bid for her basket at a picnic.)

Pop talked about his life as a boy
When the entire family worked the farm
Hard work and few returns, he said,
Cold winters when the old fireplace kept us warm.

We had wonderful vegetable gardens, he added
And lots of fine nourishing food to eat,
But cattle were very important for their milk
So poultry and pork were served for our meat.

Twilight slowly slides to dusk
Darkness with a million stars create a glorious sight
Mosquitoes begin feeding on our arms and face,
Making it time to say goodnight.

Let me tell you another story, Pop mutters from his bed,
From my cot I listen to his voice so deep,
My mind forming pictures and images from his words
Until I fall fast asleep.

Let me tell you another story…

Goodnight, Pop,
I hope you’re still telling your stories--
to the angels!
I love you…
 

© 2007 Jeanette Cooper