Taking Measure

Antsying about for something to do,

you come upon my shoes,

put your feet in them,

stand and grin, then waddle

to the sofa, where I am.

It is an ancient ritual, isn't it,

this taking measure,

this stepping into our parents' shoes?

You plop yourself down next to me,

heft those shoes up

and lay them in my lap.

I look at your impish grin

and imagine

seeing myself as I see you,

doing the best I can in the shoes

I have put on,

lumbering around, left foot, then right,

so clever, so filled with delight.