We sit in the back of the car
me and a stranger, my grandma.
Known me for forever,
has no idea who we are.
It hurts so seeing her strain
as staring at me tries again.
Foraging for foreign words
in a lost corner of her brain.
Keen to help ease her stress,
guess it’s time for me to guess.
“Goal? Gourd? Goose? Good?”
Smiles, sees a memory in the mess.
“Good! Good! Good looking!”
I don’t know whether to smile, laugh or cry.
I’m her stranger: some “good looking guy”.
“Thank you. Thank you grandma.”
That might be me someday.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.