Grandpa always yelled
the same thing,
no matter what:
"Slow down!"
was his universal
call of caution,
for running or walking,
talking or eating,
skating or riding,
corners worried him
as did sidewalks,
aisles and open fields,
and I never asked why,
or even how
to "Slow down!"
as if it was possible;
I never heeded
his call
because I was always
too excited to wait,
too close not to reach for
too far not to run;
he was dragged along
as I tugged his hand,
calling my own "C'mon!"
to him over a shoulder,
urging him on,
to not hold me back,
and I always thought
I was living dangerously,
going much too fast
for my own good;
maybe he was
just trying to keep up,
trying to see what
was so exciting
it couldn't wait,
and he needed me
to get to wherever
it was life was going.
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