This is the duct tape they use to repair airplanes.
Heavy. Solid. Abrasively sticky.
Collecting clung hair and dirt.
Shining and black on the surface. Gray and dull within.
Half a mile or so wrapped up around a cardboard ring.
Strong enough to hold together a plane.
A gift given by a man who is a grandfather, through and through.
Like he was born for the job from the very start.
A child destined to be looked up at by children.
Reaching for over-sized glasses and filling nostrils with slobber-fingers.
Touching his eternal smile framed by round red mounded cheeks.
A man who makes his children’s children happier to live.
And tape strong enough to fix wings. The sort of gift a grandpa gives.
Among others. Sneaky smiling while he hands them over.
Wet eyes locked, knowing, he is that timeless sort of clever.