Matthew Jablonski

Rainbows

The wind blows cold from our North

across Interstate 480, and again across

a fast food parking lot.

The sun is not enough.

My 4 year old son and I walk to our car.

He stops at the most beautiful puddle,

a deep oily rainbow of yesterday’s rain.

He is ready to stomp.  I can see this

in the slight itch of his foot on pavement,

in his glance at me with hesitant smile.

Don’t step in there, I tell him, it’s dirty.

and just like that he knows his shoes

will never be full of rainbows.