Every so often we stop by,
Hand and hand, my little son and I,
To poke around, to rummage through
Grandpa’s garage and look for something new.

Shelves and drawers, boxes and sacks
Filed in rows and stored in stacks.
Collected over time, each cherished find,
A tangible remembrance etched in my mind.

Fishing poles, tackle boxes, dip nets and lures
Leaf blowers, lawn mowers, barbeques and skewers
Paint brushes, ladders, drip lines, and hoses
Weed and feed, bug spray and dust for roses
Toggle bolts, nails, Phillips screws, and wires
Allen wrenches, drills, hammers and pliers
License plates, radios, pictures and books
Christmas trees, reindeer, lights bulbs, and hooks

Today I chose a sprayer and some weed control.
While my little one’s dragging a fishing pole.
“We’ll have them back to you next week,” I say.
Dad just shakes his head and walks away.

We drive away together, smiles on our faces.
My little son and me, remembering the places
Where memories were made, amid the hodgepodge,
As we shopped today in Grandpa’s garage.

~ C. L. Gillmore, © June 2012 ~