My Grandaddy
my grandaddy's drunk again the smell of rum on his breath he nods off in front of the tv disgruntled, an artful delay of his death. my grandaddy bemoans the state of the world and blames it all on, us yankees. he asks to the air oh why oh why must mickey mouse come & save us? can't he just leave us alone take his ass home & deliberately forsake us? see, my grandaddy's stubborn ( but not always drunk) knows deception when he sees it, because no matter how shiny and no matter how new it all still seems to be that same old colonial point of view.