"The Negotiation of a Curb Approaching October." (a poem for my son)

He lifts his foot to the curb as though it is a wrecking ball,
Trying to kiss a paper plate balancing on an upright toothpick.
It is like King Kong is nervous to reach the top of the Empire State Building (for he knows about the planes).
Only the planes don't come.
And we are laughing.
Though nothing is funny.
We want to cry.
Though nothing is sad.
And the sin of pride becomes a beautiful thing.
At the top of the Empire State Building.
Where King Kong is two.
Where his fathers heart swells when his son can step up onto the curb.
All by himself.

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved.