Taking Grandpa for A Walk

By John I. Blair

Persistent tugging
On my willing thumb
Tells me that my Caitlyn,
Not yet two, nor talking
Very much,
Wants to take me
For a walk outside.

I see mostly weeds
Demanding to be pulled,
Abandoned projects
And a rusty shed.

She sees misty flowers,
Shiny beetles,
Letters of the alphabet
Molded in the salvaged bricks
That pave our path.

She sees a clinging plum
Hanging from a tree
I’d never hoped of bearing fruit,
Asks me what I think
Are questions; I respond
As best I can when she’s
The reigning expert here
On magic times in gardens.

©2007 John I. Blair