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It reeked upon entering 
Like nothing i'd smelled before 
thinking about it now 
renders my Bloodhound to a Washout. 
  
There we stood, waiting on what? 
Nurses in casual clothing pranced by the one-couch room 
I was staring at my Pop-Pop's white and blue's 
The one with the emblem on the Back and Lapel. 
  
A man appeared, being escorted by one of these "Nurses" 
When my eyes fixated on him 
He looked like a man with a rough face, weathered. 
But actions began speaking louder than my observations. 
  
Such an immature grown-up, I thought, 
Playing with toys too young for even me. 
Mother and grandparents treated him 
as an infant, though no cradle could hold. 
  
They sat and spoke of Michaelangelo 
While he and I were on similar wavelengths 
Which I liked. 
  
They spoke of him before and how 
"Special" he was, and being a 
child, I had no idea of the "special" they spoke of. 
"Special" to them meant different, beyond the realm of the accustomary norm. 
  
I recall his strength to have been alien, if not super-human. 
Shook hands like S.I.D.S. 
Needed a breaking stick just to loosen this mans grip 
He had no idea what he was or supposed to be. He was He. 
  
I was both scared and intrigued 
but too young for such dialect 
I never saw the man again 
But i remember our eyes met. 
  
And they had a dialogue of their own 
hello. goodbye. 
and at the end of our visual conversation 
I knew he was of my blood.

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