He came in with a poem.
“I used to hate this stuff,” he noted, holding the page face down so I won’t peek while he explains. “But after you showed me ‘A Light in the Attic’ and told me what all this poetry word salad stuff means …” He grinned, pleased at being able to insert one of the expressions from last week. “I think it’s kinda’ fun, actually.”
He lifted his hand from the page, but left it hovering an inch above the white expanse. “You might not like this,” he warned. “It’s sort of a rap song. You know. People my age like those …”
I chuckled. “I know I’m much older than you but I actually don’t mind rap. It’s only when the language is really inappropriate that I don’t care for it.”
He peered at me, only half-convinced. “Anyway … no cuss words here. Even my mom said it’s fine. The first words are from her fridge magnet thingy.”
He turned the page and cleared his throat. “But tell me if you really like it, okay?” he glanced up, suddenly a lot less certain and a lot more the little boy. He took a deep breath. “Here goes …”
We learn more
As we go.
So make sure
To go slow.”
For The Daily Post