Adrift in an ocean of tile,
Still getting his sea legs.
Totter, totter, stumble.
Teeter, tumble.
Staggering slowly—a drunken sailor.
I watch his slow progress as I sweep crumbs across the room.
Called away to wipe a bum.
Back in a few seconds.
Isaac, so unsure of himself a moment before,
Stands with a grin.
A goldfish plucked from the sweepings
Peeking through his toothless gums.
originally published 1/06
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