The wagon, long forgotten,
waited still beneath the deck stairs,
its wood slats scattered
like pick-up sticks,
softened by years
of dust and weather.

Gramps, with the help
of an old buddy,
pulled it back into service,
stories passing between them
like repeated measurements.

All afternoon, they talked
of grandkids, mostly
how little hands
can turn a house
from dim entropy
into something lit
from the inside,

and how hearts, long quiet,
can be stirred again
by the sound
of a little red wagon
and a young voice
calling out,
asking for a ride.

7.2.25 gmz