No you

I saw from the window of my car,
As I was speeding by,
An old man.

He walked like you, Da,
one short shaky step after another,
looking forward with concentrated eyes
that told me in no uncertain terms
that this was work.

The world had changed
from a place of confidence and freedom
to a whirlwind of frighteningly infrequent familiarity.
Parenthood, no you.

You would, as you walked on your shaky pins,
give a characteristic wave and a happy smile.
To see a friendly face, a welcome in the road,
made you happy.

Now, I looked in the rear view mirror,
and glimpsed the new,
my unfamiliar, familiar future.
The one I named after you, Da.

And I wanted to stop the car,
and chase after the old man,
and show him,
and watch him smile,
that I might glimpse what your smile might have been.

How precious the young,
how precious the old.