The gift

He stands by the door
waiting for the bearded smiles
the catch-the-skies
the rumbling laughs in a barrel chest
and the glowing red of bristly kisses

he promised the boy of almost seven
presents on payday
a car, a bike, shoes with zipped lips
that don't run their mouths with every step

he said don't ask again
the pining won't make time move faster

he stands
a boy of almost twenty seven
with hand poised on the handle
waiting for the door
to be flung wide open
with a step half taken
in case somebody sees
and tells him pining
won't make time move backwards