Kurt Blorstad
I play with my Grandson.
Writer’s Block
As I sit in my chair trying my best to write
I am thinking of dinner from the previous night.
When I hear a commotion with a rumble and roar
and turn to see Connor now opening the door.
“Please play with me, Bestefar—everyone else says they’re busy.
I’ve brought all my toys and my favorite tin lizzy.”
With a truck in his hand and a big smile in place,
I could not be the one to take joy from his face.
I jumped from my chair and sat on the floor
to play with young Connor and be a child once more.
“I’ve brought all your favorites, I know what you like.
Let’s play with the race car and drive down the pike.”
We played with them all, every last little toy.
Because of young Connor my day was a joy.
Kurt Blorstad
Writer’s Block
As I sit in my chair trying my best to write
I am thinking of dinner from the previous night.
When I hear a commotion with a rumble and roar
and turn to see Connor now opening the door.
“Please play with me, Bestefar—everyone else says they’re busy.
I’ve brought all my toys and my favorite tin lizzy.”
With a truck in his hand and a big smile in place,
I could not be the one to take joy from his face.
I jumped from my chair and sat on the floor
to play with young Connor and be a child once more.
“I’ve brought all your favorites, I know what you like.
Let’s play with the race car and drive down the pike.”
We played with them all, every last little toy.
Because of young Connor my day was a joy.
Kurt Blorstad
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