Grandmother's Book

Inspired by this book.

Grandmother had a book,

my favorite story that we would curl up and read on dismal days.

"Hey Annie, let's take a look"

she'd say adjusting her glasses and bringing me a PB&J.

It was about a mischievous imp,

living in a caldron pot that danced through town.

She would read it until my body went limp,

and she would carefully lay me down.

Sometimes the story would carry through my dreams.

Fantasizing about a little demon that would give me what I want.

But fiction never gave me anything to value, so it seems-

although the impish comradely always haunts.

As a child I'd wish for a bicycle, a mansion, or train-

anything that barely made sense.

Now greater needs plague my brain,

the plight for love leaving myself quite dense.

I recall the imp in the pot-

saying "hucka pucka, hucka pucka" before it robbed the rich.

The rich man's "coat tales flying" was the line I liked a lot,

as the imp threw him in a ditch.

Then the caldron would hurry home,

to the poor family that needed the treasures the most.

All along the poverty stricken countryside it would roam,

to find the most needy host.

Where is my imp to grant,

Wishes of adult wants and longing needs?

While people who seemingly have everything make me curse and rant-

I don't care for their prayers and creeds.

I have been on my knees asking above,

to quench what is my only desire.

To deliver unconditional true love,

Grandmother's book has me considering deals signed with blood, and eternal hellfire.