Jump

Then he trips and falls splat on the walk,

tangling his feet, jumping too quickly

from crack to crack, leaps that felt like

flying as he pushed off with red Keds,

sneakers got that morning with money

from collecting empties, selling seeds,

candy door to door, shoveling sidewalks

in winter, raking leaves and of course

help from those above, being how he

regards his mom and dad, those above,

sounding at once cordial, but distant,

which was how he liked it, a decent

separation from the ones who held

the other end of the leash, those above;

galloping down the block, knowing

the names of dogs in every house,

a few nice, a few not; feeling his body’s

Superboy power when he had earlier

slammed open the front door, sprinted

across the porch and leapt with arms

outstretched; a fighter jet, nearly flying,

but only jumping, a boy leaping, having

not yet grasped the line that separates

what might happen from what might not.