A small boy spends his Saturday afternoons at his grandparents' house, tucked beneath an old linoleum table, drawing. While his grandmother goes about her business in the kitchen, with the tea kettle whistling on the stove, she never notices that a whole forest, full of tigers and lions hiding in tall grass, has taken shape under her table. The poem tells us she was an artist too, but for the boy, drawing is more than a pastime. It lets him put what is inside his head onto paper.
The speaker watches with warmth and affection, noticing small details like the boy's stuck-out tongue and crossed legs. The mood is quiet, cozy and a little secret. During the week, in class, his mind drifts back to those vivid scenes, and the poem suggests he is counting down to the next visit. The final image of the dog's wagging tail and the boy arriving with his art satchel feels like a happy return to a favorite place.