My Pops

I remember the days he used to out run me,

"to the fence and back", he'd say...

So strong,

he'd toss hay bails to the back of the old barn...

People said he didn't talk much,

I knew otherwise...

I've seen him laugh until he cried

and I've seen him cry until he had to walk away.

His salt and pepper hair is white with age,

I tell him it makes him look smarter.

He jokes about how slow he walks,

He told me today, he feels sometimes like he just gets in the way...

"never in the way, Pops", I tell him.

He laughs and I hear his voice crack on the other end.

He doesn't like that he can't beat me to the fence and back,

He doesn't like that now I lift the hay bails for him.

But not in the way... don't say that.

I'm not ready for that...

Although his body may not be, his heart is...

strong, good, wise.

I've always listened to his stories,

He's always liked telling them...

We don't run to the fence and back anymore,

We don't pull nails out of old boards anymore,

We don't build things together like we used too,

But he still tells the greatest stories...

So, we sit in the barn,

he talks and I listen.

I never want to forget his voice,

the way his scruffy face feels on my hand when I rub his cheek,

the smell of Old Spice and how he loves my peanut butter cookies...

how he will never take just one.

Never in the way...