Merry-Go-Round
A small hand tugs fingers -
my son and I,
plus 30 time-traveling years –
both of us pulling together for once.
The wooden horses spin,
just missing each other
by decades.
An appaloosa stomps the air.
"Look daddy the spotty one leaps highest!"
Little fingers spring open, gallop away
toward the carousel.
A five-year-old boy lifts me,
onto the smooth saddle,
holds me tight,
as a memory goes around again.
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