January 15, 2008  8:30 a.m.  Tucson

First  the footfalls,
echoing;
then, the full-faced joy
of his lighted eyes:          "chaKEEta, chaKEEta"
he calls to birds
behind my back door.

A small blonde boy
skips into view
in the hand of his short grandmother;
he, like a MUNI bird
in green fatigues and red cap;
she in majenta and black,
(so at odds with each other)
mocking his innocence.

I'd like to feel, again,
the unalloyed joy
of that lighthearted skip and song.
Struggling to keep up,
he punctuates his stride
with a slide and quick hop
of his little legs -
American smooth
on his way to school.

Across the street now,
then back into view
safe and secure
he hops down the road and disappears into Saturday.