Friday, July 5, 2013

Work Boots

Jackson is two now,
Dimples nearly gone for good.
Pull, cross, hook.

It is still dark this morning.
It is dark every morning.
Pull, cross, hook.

He likes to wake-up when I do,
Watches me lace my boots.
Pull, cross, right eye, left eye.

His blue eyes are rapt.
His database is smoking.
Tie. Re-tie. Tug the frayed denim.

He looks at me now. Smiles.
Still such an easy thing.



Full of Crow Poetry - July 2013

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