We were picking apples
and reaching for a Rome with my grasping stick
I must have grazed you
I’m not sure how; my eyes were on the apple

Someone else might’ve been surprised
That such a small tap could turn a ten year old boy
Into a piƱata of rage

But I know that you full of more things than this
Cascade of anger:

The crack of lobster claws
The conquest of the Lemon Squeeze Trail
The careening rides on the polar bear’s back

And on and on
Through your entire trove of memories
And the cornucopia of things to come:

From your first kiss
To your first car
To your first son

Who you will love boundlessly
And who would as likely break your heart
As walk across a field of fallen Empires.

Jim Metzner