The Naked Troubadour

To my Unborn Grandchildren [poem]

Posted on May 27, 2016 Updated on Mar 21, 2017

Please never call me Grandpa!
I don’t deserve that ageist slur.
(Although I realise your wrath
may be incurred because of my
refusal to be placed inside that box).

Please never call me Grandpa!
That label you won’t pin on me;
We’re just conditioned socially to use
this word. It’s more a form of cosiness
to check you’ve lined up all the dots.

Please never call me Grandpa!
I won’t acknowledge if you do.
Perhaps you’ll think that’s rude.
I truly hope instead you’ll value that
your grandfather’s a dude who rocks!

Please never call me Grandpa!
To my ears that is so uncool.
The social engineering apparatchiks
drool to put men blandly out to grass,
remove their balls, cut off their cocks.

Please never call me Grandpa!
Images of ageing men who stare
at panties on the washing line.
For lurking in my Birkenstocks
you’ll never find a pair of socks!

Please never call me Grandpa!
It will not happen on my watch.
I’ll be your elder, guide & counsellor
and wise old man without a tag.
This “grandpa” is unorthodox!

Please never call me Grandpa!
It’s just a way to make me tame
& pensioned off while youngsters mock.
For though you think I’m getting old
I’m growing young (my paradox).

Please never call me Grandpa!
I can’t identify at all with that.
Though on my vintage door death knocks,
if I’m ungrandpa’d by your lovely mind
the door to everlasting youth unlocks.

© Alan Morrison, 2016