Waffle with a side of gravy

The sun was coming up in the morning;

I walked along the sandbar with my wife;

You could see the waffle tracks

of two sets of tennis shoes at water’s edge.

But what we do together -

you would hardly call it tennis -

but the ball goes back and forth across the net

and bounces.

Later she would be grading the presentations

of someone else’s kids from China

and you would be handing me a plate

of waffles, they call them Belgian, at Aimee’s.

I had a side of biscuit gravy.

It’s better that way

if you like Mrs. Butterworth’s and gravy on a waffle.

Maybe it’s only the salty and the sweet.

You took a break for your own breakfast;

you rode on a barstool made for one

with a guy who still writes with a pencil on lined paper.

Could you tipple and fall?

I was telling a story to the guy

sitting in between us.

The story was about making a young mother scream.

I had said that scaring kids at Halloween is child’s play.

And I looked over and saw your face flash into mine.

Is it because you think I’m funny

or do you get me now and then

because you are?

Love is a lot like riding a bike.

Your feet are off the ground

and the world seems to be

flying by so much faster.

But the mist rises imperceptibly off the

late summer river up into the cooler

autumn air.

It hovers between heaven and earth.

And Dawn happens to be the name of

my wife of almost thirty years

and the sun rises between us.

It didn’t have to work out that way.

But on All Saints Day,

the sky was clear and the day was coming bright.

And for a moment your father and I

have something in common.

And it wasn’t just that we sometimes

have worn pumpkin heads on Halloween.

Some things your never forget how to

once you’ve learned how to,

but do you always remember to do it?

Every now and then I think that you should ride a bike

with someone you love,

it doesn’t need to be at sunrise

and you don’t need the bicycle.