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Poem
I'm off on the beaten path
with Little Rosey in my grasp

There's palm fronds like a giant clock,
twenty hands instead of two
And there's the honeysuckle bush
that suddenly broke through
the gap in my neighbor's greenhouse

"Bonnie!" she insists
"Bonnie was her name!"

And that sounds about right,
and so I don't press it
(if not exactly the same,
it's close enough ... just forget it)

Don't you remember the geese
on Old Mister Jones's lawn?
(she keeps forgetting they're made of stone
not feathers)

But I tell you the truth (except for when I lie)
days like these couldn't get much better
Skies of aqua hues and summer shoes

(toes naked,
free to wiggle)

Little Rosey Bud and her wide brimmed hat
and star bedazzled shades (on because they're neat)
Except when they're not
and she tosses them aside
in favor of big blues, au naturel

(but you don't need to know that)

A lemon yellow tank top
and cute pink shorts
(to complete the ensemble,
heavy rubber boots)

In case lightning strikes,
or another anthill gets dashed to bits

(don't even get me started on that one)

She lovingly holds my hand
because I'm her uncle
and I asked her too

(unless, of course, she needs to run off,
neck tilted towards the heavens
just to assure her
that the sky is blue)

She asks about the cobalt glass
broken in the forest trail
(we'll clean it up later, Sweet Pea,
with a garden pail)

Because now
you don't have pockets to put 'em
And all my pockets are full
of the petals you plucked

(in case you didn't know,
uncles are a part-time backpack,
all stocked up)

She asks how far is the sun,
the names of the clouds,
or why her tummy hurts just now
I said just give it some time,
one foot in front of the other,
your body will settle somehow

(someday when you're grown
you'll have your own "little tummies"
to nurse back to health)

In case it isn't clear by now,
my little Rosey has a bottomless wealth
of imagination

(for some, frustration
to me, elation)

And my ears are always perked
for the stories she tells
Sometimes they've grand conclusions (sometimes not)
Nevertheless, like the Energizer Bunny,
she just goes
   and goes
      and goes

(just ask Mr. Woodpecker,
he knows)

She walks right beside me,
two steps for every one of mine
(except when she's riding on my back
with her head feigned low
for the wily tunnel of branches
we traverse)

I can feel all ten fingers
pressed against my scalp
(I assure her she can grip
my chin or forehead, if it helps)

At times I set her down,
only to pick her up a moment later
"My head hurts and my legs are tired!
I can't go any further!"

(I can count the minutes she's traveled
on a single hand)

But like the uncle that I am,
I suck it up,
because I understand

(or rather it's simply because
she asked me too)

Those puppy dog eyes
cut straight to the heart,
it's nothing new

The sky's turning violet now
and the sun's setting low
She wonders when (oh when!)
we're ever getting home

Back to YouTube,
and the rectangular screens:
guaranteed pleasure
over possible pain

(the steady drip drip
of serotonin
straight to the brain)

She tells me all about
the pretty pixels
of her favorite videos
All eager to destroy what's left
of the afternoon

(I try to convince her
of the pretty pixies
hiding in the azalea blooms)

She wonders how far we'll go,
if it's gonna rain or even snow
(I tell her this is Florida, dear,
not Canada or Idaho)

Blown away -like Dorothy and her dog-
by the tornado of questions
All the ones of dire importance,
and all the ones too silly to mention

(the complex inner workings
of a five-year-old mind)

You don't need to answer,
just need to listen
(there's a beating fire inside,
you can see it in her eyes,
when they water, when they glisten)

I know you're probably getting bored
(whoever is reading this just now)
Places to be and people to see...

...you don't need to explain it to me

(I got nieces, you know,
the stories they tell,
they don't need to make a point,
they just need to be told)

Before the ink runs dry,
make hay while the sun still shines,
or (God forbid) a change of weather

(before we are withered and old
and don't know any better)

Dear Reader, you can pack it up right now,
take one more trip around the sun
It's quicker for me (and fuller indeed)
to take one more Rosey trip
around the block

(get yourself a little one,
before you judge any further,
and then we'll talk)
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