Proud Old Man

Your baby granddaughter
Smells of freshly baked scones,
You look like a tree trunk,
Your eyes are like oak knots.

Skin like tanned leather
With a wisdom only age can bring,
There’s a tremble as you hold her,
It’s an ancient way to soothe.

Your baby granddaughter is happy
Staring at anything,
The yellow-white lights,
A beggar’s messy beard,

The lines of a subway map,
A train alive with eyes,
The old and weathered face you gurn,
Where wrinkled laughter lies.

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