anne.seebach.poetry

The three of them straggle toward the gate 
dust dancing the playground behind 
Youngest rushing to join the lead, feet tangle 
he stumbles, he falls – 
‘Ooph’ flat on his belly, almost frozen in time 
small face wide 
in anxious trust 
eyes fixed on the man ahead 
 
Murmured reassurance as father leans in,
a brief and urgent reply 
then “Pop!” Dad calls, and the older man halts 
 
“Joey wants to hold your hand.” 
 
—the look on the older man’s face
—the look on the young fella’s face
 
So together ahead they stride 
chests full in shared delight, 
uncomplicated joy in the other 
 
Joey and Pop