Challenges of Parenting

I was barelegged with you in a field this morning.
You couldn't have been a day past five. 
It was I who helped you navigate the long grass,

the dips in the soft, unseen turf,

you who found the ripe blackberries,

spread across your face like war paint.

Or was it your high school?
You walked off the grounds for the last time,
a sheet of paper pressed between leather 
under your arm as your  books always were,

I wore a simple floral top and black slacks,

a proud smile that just wouldn't come off.

I can’t recall. But no matter.

It's 4 o'clock , another sunny Monday, 

that day after Thursday,

when that kind young man
who looks so much like you

always brings warm apple pie

just the way I like it. 

He should smile more often.

Author's Note

Liked this poem and want more? Be sure to stop by my Amazon author page which links to my book, blog and other current activities: http://www.amazon.com/Darryl-Davis/e/B00DMI7HCQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1