one summer afternoon

my dad asked me carry the beer while he pushed my grandma in her wheelchair

The sun that day came slapping at our backs,
And to blind us with metallic glare.
It came to dampen spirits and shirts
And scorch the handle's of grandma's wheelchair.
With such conditions anger flirts,
And in its lust strikes temper's match.

This searing reminder brought father's thirst
And required a case of tall necked aid
But wheels could not roll with this in tow.
Of this responsibility I was afraid,
Because strong grip in hands was yet to grow
And young imagination can fear the worst.

I accepted this load quite hesitantly,
Little bones could not take this task,
And cardboard began to feel like enslavement.
I shattered your hopes in green glass,
Steaming ale profanities poured on pavement.
"A lovely day!" grandma said pleasantly.