Editors Note: The following is a poem submission from writer George Sorrentini. -M.P.
I hate my Grandfather!
He has forgotten everything about me!
He has forgotten my birthday,
and all the fun times we had.
He has forgotten the 5AM fishing trips we went on
and Grandma’s loving kiss.
He has forgotten the times he played the piano
while I sang and danced.
He has forgotten his favorite dinner
and that 1940’s record that he just loved to play.
But what hurts me the most,
is that he has forgotten my name.
To my Grandpa,
every memory is a discarded ash
inside a cracked ash tray.