Well,

 

I’m oh, so consumed,

With antiquated thoughts,

Words that smoke like asphalt fumes,

Buried deep in reminiscence,

That romance of older times,

Burning bright in times like these,

When all around is iridescent,

Talk of all the words,

My grandma Grace at dewy corn fields,

My first imbued sadness,

At my furry cat Bushy,

Dying alone inside a pond,

My papa riding on his Phoenix,

Burning rubber down to rims,

So that his family could eat,

Mama with a cougar’s brute strength,

Working day and night for us,

Simpler times with food and music,

Not a lot but sure, amusing,

Mama nudged me on to language,

Lovely books and deep reflection,

Papa nudged me on to manhood,

Moral cues and Godly virtue,

And often times when all is cold out,

But all around is iridescent,

I think to Papa telling me, “Son,

Be slow to speak or take to high ground,

But be a simple, nerdy nut-case,

‘cause dogs, hyenas make the most sound,

But upon the cats the jungle’s fated.”