Sugar

My papaw always hoarded three musketeer bars

The silver packaging glinting in his dresser

The way his eyes sparkled when he saw us

I have always had an insatiable hunger for candy

The sugar 

a poison I can’t get enough of

How my papaw would pick me up

Swing me around, my giggles crackling in the air

_Give papaw some sugar_

I would plant a kiss on his cheek between fits of laughter

If he hadn’t shaved in awhile

He would rub his sharp stubble against my soft, round cheeks

I would push him away yelling, still laughing between breaths

He didn’t always do maintenance on his beard,

But one thing that was always clean cut was the grass

He loved mowing more than he loved his wife

Somewhere in heaven, the grass needs cut

And I like to think

My papaw is the one who gets to cut it

On his riding lawn mower 

Not a new mower or a push mower

But his John Deere riding lawn mower

With the bright yellow seat

and the engine much louder than any car

Roaring because he took off most of the safety mechanisms

So that 

The mower eats the green blades effortlessly

Or maybe in heaven they’re gold

And at the end of the day 

When the job is all done

He will sit on his porch 

Chewing tobacco and watching tv

And he will spit into his bottle

Maybe he will hear how I talk about him every single day 

But I do know he will wait for the grass to grow again

And he would have an infinite supply of three musketeers

And he would never eat a single one.