Opposites
My father loved to fish for
bass.
He loved to hunt small game
and deer.
My husband played electric bass.
That they were opposites was
clear.
Dad hunted with a compound
bow,
And had a favorite fishing
reel.
In worship songs, hubby would
bow.
A fretless Fender was his
deal.
As Daddy felled the deer with
lead,
My hubby filled the air with
song.
And both were well equipped
to lead,
And neither man did any wrong.
We didn’t have to shed a tear,
For our bond’s tear, we had
no fear.
Pappap Hurst
Smelled of sawdust,
(since he was a carpenter)
Jurgen’s hand lotion
(because of the sawdust)
Cologne
(to go see his lady friend)
And candy.
(that he passed out to his grandkids).
Springtime
Growing up in Pennsylvania
I remember the smells of springtime
in my country neighborhood.
Apple blossoms, new grass, lilacs.
Trout.
Every spring, Fish & Game would stock
the little creek that ran through.
Fishermen would line the banks
waiting for a bite.
We’d open the fridge
to the smell of fish,
which smelled much better
when Mom fried them in a pan.
She’d always caution us
against choking on the bones.
