The Lemonade Days

We had come a long way from the lemonade days, Watching the crisp off-white fizz ebb and flow against the tall sides of our glasses Dribbling over our fingernails, as we dozed in the hammocks That smiled between the great oak trees of his garden And his future boomed out in huge round bubbles That bounced between the branches Bursting into intricate fizzy webs of retirement plans Wrap around porches Shiny vintage cars And a ship A great thing that cast shadows that rivalled the waves it would sail Now something flat and dull creeps over grey sands Stains dark the toes of my grandfather’s suede shoes As he peers down at a wooden dream That rocks sleepily Its oars crossed like stubborn arms His great face, flat and grey like a newly crumbled cliff, His eyes small and dark like caves He takes my hand And takes me home.