As I hold your gnarled hand,
I think of the days when the grip was strong.
When you taught me to swing the bat,
As well as that one time you slapped me hard,
For lying was something you could never tolerate.
As I gaze at your wrinkled face,
I will you to open your eyes
And just this once talk to me.
You look so frail surrounded by machines
With tubes snaking around,
like a tightening noose.
I feel my breath catching in my throat
And as I choke back that sob,
You return my grip.
The light might have faded from your eyes
But they still twinkle at my sight.
You pat my hand, give a lopsided smile.
And I know alls right with the world
I may be on the verge of granddaddyhood
But I am not ready to bid you goodbye
You may think you are not of much use
But I think I would like you around
For a few years more.