I never met either of my grandfathers;
I’ve heard a lot about them, nonetheless.
That one was kind, a gentle man, a draftsman;
The other was an alcoholic mess

I’d see their photos on the walls, in albums;
A pair of piercing eyes, so grave and sad –
But realized that I would never know them
Not in-the-flesh, the way my parents had

A carpenter who liked to drink – my mom’s dad;
I know his favorite joke, some things he said –
My mom was only nineteen when he passed, though,
From the poor home my mom had lately fled

An engineer for Kodak was my dad’s dad;
Who taught my dad’s young wife first how to drive.
A man she loved, and still calls “Pop” to these days,
Who showed her gentlemen were still alive

Why do I talk about these long gone men now?
Because I realize…