Grandpa had a gambler’s poker face, <br />though grandma held the tattered deck of cards. <br />We crossed the bridge in Wheatland, and then raced <br />by Dunbar Slag, and two scrap metal yards. <br />Old Bill was sleeping near his pit-bull Pug, <br />but woke when he caught ear of grandpa’s voice. <br />They went inside, then came out with a jug <br />of what Old Bill called “Pennsylvania’s Choice.” <br />They drank it like spring water, cold and pure, <br />reminisced about what two old fogies <br />had done for cash in nineteen-twentyfour, <br />then grandpa smiled and said: “We’d better go.” <br />Before we got back home he smoked two stogies, <br />stinky ones, so grandma wouldn’t know.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moonshine-1969/
