2. He drives past our trailer in his gray truck and we're playing on the propane tank and you can near see the fire in his brake lights when he stops, and he comes out and we aren't ever going to pretend the propane tank is a horse again.
3. He's left the hose pouring water on the ground, and I pick it up to drink, and he knocks it out of my hand. "Ditchwater."
4. And he wrestles with us on the floor, a softpack in his pocket, and he likes to joke about the mosquitos he heard while he was moving pipe, the ones who were looking for a few young girls to carry back, so they could just feed off of them all summer. And we believe him for at least two weeks, avoiding the ditches and on the lookout for the ring leader, the big guy, that Grandpa described in detail.
5. He kept his smokes in the crisper drawer of the fridge and would send one of us kids in to grab a pack for him. And usually there would be a package of pop rocks in there, too, and those were for the kid who ran in first.
6. He loved fireworks. And so did I.
7. And it was best when Grandma would hand one of the egg beaters covered in chocolate cake batter to Grandpa and the other to you and the two of you would lick them clean and then Grandpa would ask if you were full and you'd say, "Yes" and he'd say, "I think you could eat more." But you really can't, so you stick out your stomach as far as it will go and say, "See, Grandpa, no room." And he'd poke your tummy and agree. His sweet-tooth was never full.
(inspired by poetry class today)