Felt Tips and Fountain Pens

If I was a betting man
I would bet on the price of a haircut to go up,
the value of a hair piece to go down,
just don’t ask me why.

My grandpa was a betting man,
a faithful Ohio lottery player to be precise.
He always reminded us that
no matter the odds,
you’re sure to lose if you never play.

There was a certain irresistible logic to his claim.
After all, even a 0.0000000000001 % change of winning
is better than zero,
which is your odds is you don’t play at all.

Grandpa always had a way with words, and cards and dominoes
Ole Bullet played a mean game of gin rummy
as long as no one was keeping score
or he had the scratchpad and pen nearby.

That was his nickname…Ole Bullet
from back in his Texas youth
when he used to “wrassle alligators” barehanded
and split bullets in two with just his knife.

Grandpa always loved his fountain pens
and red Papermate felt-tip marker pens
a legacy that he passed on
to several of us grand kids.

Even as I write this I have several felt pens
sticking out of a pencil holder cup that reads
“A Teacher Opens the Window to Tomorrow”
a gift from my parents,
and his old green, metal Swingline stapler,
the kind that feels like it weights 5 pounds
and always gets the job done with a resounding thwack!

There’s also a vaguely African looking
carved wooden letter opener
stuffed among the pens and scissors
mementos of his that somehow found their way into my possession
just like these memories, these stories, these family histories.