In the rainy grocery store parking lot
a little boy splashes
mesmerized by his shiny black boots.
I want to point him out, ask if you remember
how you wanted to sleep in rain boots at that age.
But I know better. We’re busy arguing
about dropping Trigonometry.
I’ll never need it, you say.
What is it good for?
I am almost sure
it has something to do with celestial navigation,
Mariners measuring angles,
Astronomers mapping distances between stars.
You roll your eyes.
Remind me you don’t plan a career
watching stars or the sea.
These days I could use a map.
Something to help me navigate
the distance between stars, or something closer–
the little boy you were,
the man you nearly are.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 