Grandfather

alfred eisenstaedt

Grandfather

Grandfather swallowed a bullet, his hands
Were tied; a stiffly shaken shot or two
that undid all the men I thought I knew.

SHOT! friendly shells between his steel-mouthed will.
SHOT! through the timid television-blue,
His stinger stuck and scattered, indifferent.

Grandfather took the backdoor down the stairs
And tripped the gentle mines loose in his heart.
Left mossy stones to stain, with bits of brain,
While rose-blood bloomed ruin.

These listless depths confront my every-man,
This buried tinker-toy, this glass of rocks
And cool cool fear as in the pity shroud.
A man is dead. No storm, no sun, no cloud.


[copyright Taylor Roberts, 2007]