A Walk To Town

he must have been six or younger then, his mama took him for a walk one morning, must be a special occasion, he thought, like Sunday mass or someone's birthday, pomade sticky, smelling good, shining on his hair, which mama parted on the left, his new pair of black shoes hurt his tiny toes, he didn't mind, they were going somewhere, her gentle, protective hand clutching his, though he had to double, triple his pace to catch up with her, and he stumbled once in a while, but she helped him up, she slowed down with him, carefully down some gray, gravelly road in his young town, still his pair of black shoes hurt his tiny toes, but he didn't mind, he was going somewhere.