HH at 10

Each step he takes is toward the door

That small patch of pimples

He hadn’t even noticed

A step toward the door

The phone

The hair

The secrets

All steps

But yet he still puts his undershirt on backwards

And forgets to zip his fly

And wants me to ride with him to school each morning

Even if I am required to break away just out of sight of the bike lock-up

One step forward

One step back from the door

Am I counting, no

Am I paying attention, yes

Does it matter, yes

An old friend called last week

His son had taken an apartment

And he wasn’t a happy man, my friend

To the door and through it

His son had gone

Into his own home

Signed, sealed and delivery accepted

He must have done something right, my friend decided

But those were only words to bide him over

To the next realization

And less a moment of self-congratulation

Than a reluctant recognition of the inevitable

My friend did well by his son

But ultimately he was helpless

From first step to goodbye

Any more than I could delay those pimples from blossoming

Brightly, proudly, defiantly

On that soft face

The face I wait for every morning fresh from bed

And now, in the afternoons

Nearly anxious at the window

Watching for his soon-to-be-replaced blue bike

His knees brushing the handle bars as he peddles furiously and obliviously

Round the last corner and across the last street

Until he is safely, if temporarily, home

November 17, 2013