Slow

From my son I learned slow
his first steps
his small feet
walking with him
in a measured beat
my well-timed
Boom
to his steady
step-step-step

Waiting for the pause,
when he would be held in awe-
a passing train
a cardinal
a bouncing ball

Standing in stirred-up stillness

He is now in the twilight of his childhood
and teetering toward a life less magic
and I move slowly still
my silent protest
against the rapidity
of mechanized living

And I see my son
soaking up the surge
speeding ahead
trying to source contentment

And I wonder
when I am aged
will he take comfort in what I have cultivated --
will he take my arm in his arm
and meander
in a dimly remembered rhythm

a well-timed
Boom
to my steady
step, step, step