I showed the poem below to Peter, who you will recognize as the little man I was writing about. He read the poem, started chuckling, and said, “That is about me?” I looked at him, as he was looking and grinning at the computer screen...with tears in his eyes. I love poetry.
Fine Day For a Walk
It was a long day in a dark winter
and having enough of gray
we went to the local upscale mall
to soak in
artificial happiness of the bright lights
and snappy clothes.
You, little determined man,
had a bigger plan that
day.
Equipped with new orthodics,
(we called them "helpers"
for your weak ankles and low tone legs)
you decided it was a fine day
of gray
to walk
Not holding onto anything,
you marched along
in a glorious parade
surrounded by your biggest admirers
your older brothers
who determined a long time ago
you were no sick baby.
They circled around you,
only helping with their cheers
Propelling your tiny body down that
mall corridor as if you owned it
because you did
I held my breath
as I often have
saving it up
to expend my energy on big things
like jumping up and down
crying
as you crossed the finish line of your
impromptu race
beating both Neil and Lance Armstrong
at two years old.
--DK
