Sharon Hadley-Ford
Writer

Grandson



I love your toothless smile

I love your chunky thighs

I love your fluffy head

I love your pillow cheeks

I love your spidery lashes

I love your sapphire eyes

I love your chantilly skin

I love your powder scent

I love your wobbly steps

I love your squeals

I love your elegant way of lifting my heart.

I love you.

Cocktail Hour

Bubbles, bliss, and beauty,

Held up in a crystal cup.

We cheer, celebrate, and chime,

As she sips daily, at the sublime.

“One more for the road,” I hear.

Because it’s cocktail hour somewhere, right?

A picture of happiness, fabulous, fun, and fiery,

She’s the highlight of the party,

Dancing on tabletops.

She laughs, loves, and is loose,

As she avoids the truth.

“Thank goodness it’s Friday,” is sung.

Because it’s cocktail hour somewhere, right?

Manhattans, mimosas and mai tais are smiley and seductive

Beckoning from above on their shiny shelves.

Gifting her tears, tantrums and trembles

For years.

Yet again, “bottoms up” is bellowed.

Because it’s cocktail hour somewhere, right?

Bars, clubs, and pubs are her altars.

They take her pleasure and her prayers,

As she worships and declares.

“Chin-chin, make mine a double gin”.

Because it’s cocktail hour somewhere, right?

Careless, useless, and worthless,

Mascara smudged

And sleeping in stranger’s beds.

Lies

Looting

Loss

Hiding bottles in baskets,

Friends ending up in caskets.

But, “Cheers!”

It’s cocktail hour somewhere, right?