Friday, September 28, 2012

With My Grandson

Walking through the park

Pushing my year old grandson

snoozing in a three wheeled jogging stroller

A brindled bull dog choke chained to my wrist

I'm tender and tough

This old run down park is too  

Paint crews know this place

They struggle to stay ahead of the graffiti.

We jog by two tatted gang kids

Moving toward the shadows cast by the old olive trees.

Shade and breeze beckon.


Laid out on the cool grass one hand on the dog,

long stretched and content,

the other on Logan's stroller.

I begin to doze

Logan's chubby grubby toes turned out as he dreams

We relax into a sweet and joyful
moment.



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