When A Boy is 6
He gives me a grin and it goes like this:
straight, up, over, down, straight.
Tooth, gap, gap, tooth.
Adding corners to his smile.
And he’s that wiry age, a paper clip bent into the shape of a little boy.
Sharp elbows, pointy knees, he and his scooter just make a little set of triangles.
How can all those points and ends be so warm and loving in the flash of his bright smile, right at me walking by.