Bringing Up Baby
The blackened soles of your feet revealed
At each turn of the bicycle's wheels.
You ride with your hands stretched north and south
Along the curve of Dundas Street West.
Sixteen years turning into seventeen at the bend
We ride into an evening of potato chips and beer and Cary Grant and
"Look at me look at me I was born on the side
of a hill" lop-sided gait.
Bringing up babies is what I've loved to do.
You said you'll need me for a couple more years
Then you'll be through with my kisses and pick up sticks.
The rounds of bicycle wheels and dirty soles
The curve of the road straightens, and your balance never falters.
Against the horizon your silhouette hangs
And the traffic light switches from red to green.