One boy

A year of appearances and disappearances

regular as breathing,

I play peek-a-boo on a grand scale,

Daddy performer working little limbs,

in weekly re-union,

wetting the warm dint of your neck;

in this family boys cry.

There’s been a lot of that lately,

in lost-limb weeks I feel your itching

and your faltering steps,

each time I stumble, hit the decks 

reckless or exploratory,

Warm as my blood, you claim muscle

from soft arms,

train kicking legs to stand

your ground.

I mark it for you, and take my place,

at once; wurlizer, roundabout,

shoot-em up, and clown,

but true too, I am your mute pedagogue,

teaching lost limbs to dance.