Cha-cha-cha

The sweet spot

found the blink of an eye,

infant boy on my shoulder

a full minute longer.

My grampa cha-cha

making sleepy smiles

and training my calves for the

marathon of the next twenty years.

Its grace,

not bloodline, giving

me goosebumps

and burp duty.

I married into functionality,

fill in the blanks,

take the steps

step-fathers take.

Quick, rock back,

quick-quick-quick.

I saw my parents dance

once, in fifty years.

What they gave up for us

I want to play over and

over again, before its time

to change my diapers.