I was on my daddy’s shoulders when
crowds gathered around us
pushing autograph books, T-shirts and
scraps of paper into his hands.
I was on my daddy’s shoulders when
a band marched through Maplewood
playing a song someone wrote
about the speed in his step
and the power in his hands.
I was on my daddy’s shoulders when
the TV ran their interviews
with him recounting the plays
of the Super Bowl game when the guy
on the other team let the ball
fly right through his hands.
I was on my daddy’s shoulders when
the crowds grew smaller and the coach said
Maybe next game—you need some rest,
then looked up at me and smiled,
trying not to stare too hard
at my daddy’s shaking hands.