There’s an older woman listening for lottery numbers

On the couch of that old blue house, I know oh so well.

Whose halls were living with laughter, before and after bedtime.

“Kids it’s dinner time” she said,

Head peeking out of the glass patio door

My cousins and I dash across the grass,

To the dinner table, hungry from a hard day of play.

Grandma’s house.

pork chops are on the grill outside,

the thud of basketballs, bouncing off of the cement continues,

The intense game of lightning is coming to a close

Grandma calls from the old oak door, time to go inside.

Grandma’s House.

The bright flame of the fireplace illuminates grandpa glued to his LazyBoy,

Hallmark movies playing in the background, grandpa's favorite.

The smell of Cookies so good us cousins rush to the kitchen,

So good they pry grandpa out of his chair to investigate.

Grandma’s House.

As sacred as a cemetery this house is, for us boys.

This two story twenty year old house means a lot to me.

It turned my cousins to brothers, and blessed me with more good memories,

Than I can count