I must channel my grandfather
with everything poem I write.
He would submit poems to

As a child I would sit
next to his desk.
Remaining quiet
and not be a pest.

When the royalties came,
between seven and twenty-five cents.
My brother, myself, and cousins
would split the profits.

There was always
pennies to be had.
I began waiting
for the mailman.

He loved to joke, play
and watch us run.
From poems to ring toss,
it was always fun.

Thanks Grandpa, 
for all your time.
I’ve got the rhythm
and you taught me the rhyme.