Visting Grandpa

I set the box of empty memories
Down on your table
And let out a sigh
Before looking at you and whispering
"I brought you those pictures you wanted"
We get back to awkward small talk
The way its always been.

I'd be lying to myself if I said
When I looked at you I saw anything more than hate
And I can't help but wonder
How you can stand
Looking at pictures of lives you ruined
And of once perfect days interrupted by your drunken madness

I look at the clock on the wall
And I don't think it could tick the seconds away fast enough
Even if it knew how badly
I wanted, needed it to say three O'Clock
So I can escape these white washed walls
Until again I must do my good deed
Of visiting you one Sunday each month.

And when the torture session is over
You offer to walk me to the car
Together we hobble along on our crippled legs
Until the side walk ends
And you admit you are too tired to go on
I purse my lips, hold my breath
And give you the much hated kiss
On your whithered cheek
And continue the escape alone.
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