22 November 2008

No Disguising That He Cares (rev)

grandad rocks

There’s no disguising that he cares, he’s hitching
at his underwear with unconcealed distress,
he’s in a mess of moods, confused and clearly
ill at ease with flashy clothes he’d rather shed.
There’s no disguising whom he clothes his
feelings for, he’s sore appraised, trapped
inside a crude charade that falls too short
to be a dream – too real to be concealed.
There’s no disguising where he’d rather be,
and she despairs when anywhere but here
and here is where the source of disrepair
disarms his soul and steals serenity.
She smiles and says he’s looking great,
his shirt and tie a work of art and could they
have the picture please, and right away,
they look so good together – please, oh please!
He’s on his knees, driven by her charm
to acquiesce, her heady innocence has mingled
with his nervous sweat, he holds her hand and
shyly smiles and looks a little sad. And click...
There you are, it wasn’t all that hard
now was it, dearest Grandpapa.
© 2006, I.D. Carswell