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Petunias in the Tractor Tire
by Michael Escoubas

Here we are my grandson, age four, and me.
In old shoes and torn jeans, we use child-sized
scoops and rakes as we ready the soft earth.

We're planting rainbows of petunias.
The boy's hair splashes sunlight gold; his hands
love the dirt as they scoop holes for starts.

I'm clumsy in the art of planting flowers
but the boy thinks I know everything. He
works close to me, my garden prodigy.

Looking back I recall something I lacked:
I would have traded my Babe Ruth rookie
baseball card for a grandpa with bent back

and torn jeans who planted petunias
with patient hands, and endless time for me.

Previously published in Your Daily Poem and Light Comes Softly, by Michael Escoubas.  

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