(Or How I became King of the World)
I didn’t understand the significance of it then.
An antique globe left to me by my grandfather.
He was a man of meager means, a linesman for the railroad.
He was proud of the home he owned for more than forty years.
He was satisfied with wife and children and grandchildren by his side.
He had no money to speak of but he found riches in his music and his friends.
He was strong with a heart that outlived his body.
As people walked through his door he would greet them by name.
His voice would bellow conveying the happiness he felt.
He never offered advice, a humble man he was.
He spoke of his heritage of sleeping on dirt floors,
Tomato fights and riding a horse to school.
He had an eighth grade education, more than his father.
He prayed to the end, knowing salvation was coming.
He followed the railroad to the states it would take him.
He never needed more. He never flew in a plane.
He scarcely saw the world except on this ancient globe.
He left his guitar to someone, a coveted gift.
He gave many others possessions, a ring or a tool,
But he left to me the world of which he barely knew.
He didn’t tell me what to do with it.
He just said this world is yours.
He made me King of the world, its master.
I could do with it what I wanted.
I didn’t understand so many years ago,
So I put it in the closet to store this fading relic of humankind.
How many grandfathers leave the world to someone when they have nothing else?
Mine.

The Buck Stops here,
Andrew Q. Smith