(Inspired by) Texas Rose

At peace among his beautiful foliage
Collecting the disintegrating sun
He produced in me an opposed black thumb
 
What little I know about Grandpa’s life
Fits upon this page that could have fallen
From his cherished pecan or walnut trees
 
The ones out back which supplied shade and
Nuts he squeezed with his chiseled silver vice
Cracked like my mom; empty like her sisters
 
But more than his trees, it’s those damn roses
Where I picture him laid among the thorns
On any unforgiving, stinking day
 
Sodden from his green garden hose and sweat
Grandma scrambled to his side in the dirt
His eyelids shut like soft and sweet petals
 
Stubbornness snapped and crushed her Texas rose
When the next door neighbor paid no respect
To my Grandpa’s world of trees and bushes
 
The nameless sporting man threw his pigskin
One too many times into Grandpa’s yard
Grandpa raised hell and right there’s where he fell

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