Grandfather's Car

I never rode in my grandfather’s car,
Both victims of old age and weather.
Yet I remember him pushing roller skates,
And pulling our wagons forever.

His decades as a minister,
Were defused with humorous rhyme.
Mocking his youth to infirmary days,
He laughed in the face of time.

I never rode in my grandfather’s car,
Still I was with him, stroke after stroke…
Reading his truth-in-jest poems,
He still wrote when he no longer spoke.

I never rode in my grandfather’s car,
But I clearly remember his face…
I still hear his laughter and poetry
As I have genetically, taken his place.