Cha-cha-cha


The sweet spot
found the blink of an eye,
infant boy on my shoulder
a full minute longer.

My grampa cha-cha
making sleepy smiles
and training my calves for the
marathon of the next twenty years.

Its grace,
not bloodline, giving
me goosebumps
and burp duty.

I married into functionality,
fill in the blanks,
take the steps
step-fathers take.

Quick, rock back,
quick-quick-quick.
I saw my parents dance
once, in fifty years.

What they gave up for us
I want to play over and
over again, before its time
to change my diapers.