Childhood, family, love, memory, Poetry

ice cream soda dreams

grandpa was not rich
but bestowed us a fortune
of sweets, chocolate coins
or twenty cents to buy our own.

grandpa was not rich
but gave us our first wheels,
scavenged from spare parts
racing corridors, pounding hearts.

grandpa was not rich,
but he made butter sugar dream
sandwiches, washed down ice cream
soda at a rental flat in Ghim Moh.

grandpa was not rich,
but he always had time,
voice booming, confident, kind,
escaping, eluding, memories of mine.

He was never ever rich
but we could give him nothing more
than what we had, ourselves, in which
my grandfather was never ever poor.

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