for papa Lolly
He walked upon his hands once,
to show how it was supposed to be done
Hands placed on concrete, fingers
spread wide, toes pointing to the
endless blue, his back straight, firm.
He was sixteen again.
The dropped coat, keys, and six pack
are left at the end of the walkway, for
All the way to the porch he walks on
his hands, landing his feet on the steps
as if it is the easiest skill in the world.
Little bodies gasp, squeal, running up to
him, their fear forgotten for once,
wanting to know the secret of hand
Smiling he says just practice, then
remembers his treasures at the end of
the walk and has his newly acquired fans
fetch what was dropped.
He leaves the excited laughter
settles in his chair at the back of
the kitchen, by his third can of Bud
he has killed the sixteen year old
self, again the long shore man
with ten kids, grandchildren and
the memory of how he once walked
on his hands.