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
anne.seebach.poetry 