Grandpa Was a Shriner

Grandpa Was a Shriner


These parades were so much better
back when Grandpa was around...
He'd wave his hand and drive a Shriner car
and once he hit a clown.

He wore a fez, complete with tassle.
Knees in armpits, what a hassle
driving was, but it was fun
to watch him turn that tiny wheel
and make the children run and squeal.

He'd rev the motor from a mower
as he'd buzz a tuba blower,
act as if he'd run him over,
then he'd dart the other way.

He'd pass the floats and pull out front.
They never seemed to like his stunts.
They'd slam their brakes and, in the sway,
the smiling kings and queens would topple.
Scattered bowling pins, they'd lay
across the scene and they were mean...

Once the Peach Queen took him down --
she took my grandpa to the ground!
That fine Memorial Day was spent
upon the asphalt, though assault
on him was no fault of his own...

It was a horse that did him in.
He'd seen a banner in the wind.
As it had blown, he got excited.
Grandpa swerved and so invited
fiery trouble from the Queen,
as she was ousted from her perch
when her float lurched.

She hopped the rail, berserk and crazed,
her crown askew, she was enraged.
She scratched and called him "STUPID JERK!"
until we pulled her from his shirt
and Sherrif Dwayne had thrown her,
cuffed and spitting venom, in the cage.

Well, that was twenty years ago
and Grandpa came to drive again.
He walked it off and soon forgot
and then apologized, in hopes she
would relax -- and soon she did.
She checked the facts and understood,
and then they called each other
friends and all was good.

And so, today, at this parade,
although my Grandpa's driven on,
I feel his spirit living on...
Each time I see a beauty queen
or Shriner crammed into a car
traversing quickly, lane to lane,
I know that Grandpa can't be far.