Grandpa

You smell like gas and grass, My favorite scent. I stood on Cold, hard ground. White wall behind my back. Another smell, Sharpie. You measured me. I’ve grown, I’m older, I’m growing up. Still lost. So many options, Police officer, Comedian, Production manager, Writer, Skating coach. And here I am But without you The man who measured my growth In your cold garage where you worked To perfect your already perfect yard, Your already perfect world. But you’ll always be in the back of my mind. Watching me grow.