PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Exhausted from the flight I walk in the apartment

Out he walks with his stick-like cane in his right hand

I awaken myself to stare at the handle.  A silver elephant head,

Worn and dirty from the everyday use, but amazing just the same.

I admire all his canes, and even more so, all his elephants.

I walk over to the crystaled mirror glass case in the front hall

I turn to papa and ask for the key. He doesn’t give it

But its okay, I just look through at the sequin, glass, china, and all the others



Hours later we sit at the table. He at the head, and Nanny to his left.

She is so fragile, she broke her leg by turning over in her bed.

I bet Papa Horovitz wasn’t that weak… but Papa Henry isn’t that bad either

He is getting worse, he has this pushcart thing now

Yet he still walks in with that corny smile

Looks at me and says, “ I got you!”

Shapes his fingers like a pistol, and clicks his tongue



Why that always seemed funny to him, I fail to understand.