Of Grandfathers

Corrosion terrors

Of getting old

Like grandfather

Holding my hand

Taking me places

To let salt stick

To my skin

Drive through

Canyons, slipping sand

Through both of us

Holding hands

I can remember

Not nearly as much

As him, as much as we

Could and have

Nearly seen

His eyes so clean

With vision

And going slow

The rest of him

As his cars went so fast

His wife died so soon

The worries turn

Like treasures

Like owning houses

Like collecting social security

Like collecting new shells

With the same smooth edges

And tips of toes

And feet, and hands

Holding gifts of places

Of visions

Of grandfathers