Anxiety Attack
My uncle was trying to get my grandpa to smile for a photograph tonight.
He kept scowling and saying “Son of a bitch” under his breath.
He was a cook in the navy during World War II.
He got back and worked in a diner where he met my Grandma.
She was the daughter of the diner’s owner.
It was in Chicago. He had grown up in Detroit.
He’s really old now.
I said good bye to him when he left.
He repeated the words I said
and copied my smile.
I feel really depressed that his great life is coming to a close.
He used to spit and cuss with the rest of us.
Now he sits and has his skin act too large for his body.
I miss Grandpa.
The one that told me things.
The one that wasn’t already dead.
I’ll feel better when I wake up tomorrow.
mostly because I’m still young.
And for some reason I’m getting presents…