taps over norfolk

I shook the hand of my grampa,
it felt of the summer sea
and salty sores of epsom.
I sat on his shore and watched.

His watch almost at elbow,
and lenses resting on-nose,
"He shouldn't have done that,"
he says to his sacred screen.

I lent my ears to his story
of his sea life in the Navy
(while he watched his channel 27)
and waited until his high tide.