I wrote a poem about my son today. I’ve been working on it for three days, including about an hour this morning. I’m ready to hear what people think.
The second line was especially troubling for me (I’ve written it about three dozen ways), as was the transition from the second line into the third line.
I also need a title. I have many options. I like none of them.
Watching my baby boy crawl across the polished kitchen floor,
low to the ground like a Marine traversing a field of barbed wire,
thinking he’s making his way to me,
only to realize that his target
was the rogue Cheerio
on the floor beside my sneaker.