Z.

His little black head frames a shining

face

and round, round eyes.

He sprints, sparks fly.

He can’t get there fast enough;

   still needs my help.

I wear permanent running

shoes

ready to go

to match

pace for pace

mind to mind.

I’m with him before the buzzer starts-

always have been

The trick is keeping that truth

from his smart little brain

so, as he flies down the road,

he is confident alone.

Look in his pocket though: I’m there.