Gambol

There’s a single

footprint

in the freshly laid

cement

across the street.

It’s in the very

centre

of the 12’ x 12’

now hardened

concrete pour.

Someone took the time

to smooth it out

before the jump. Maybe

with a darbie or a trowel.

The look of morning snow.

Frosting’s crown of cake.

Just to be defaced

by an errant leap.

The imprint

has been frozen like a

fossil. A shoeless

3½ . A child with their

toes amid the muck,

hopping six feet out

to a patch of

green. An Olympian-to-be

in ’32. Brisbane’s

kangaroos

to watch & marvel.

But back to our

little brat

who wiped their

sole onto the grass,

pulled their sock

& shoe

back to their place,

strolled in bogus

innocence to school,

to study every shape

& depth of form,

what can last

forever

or but a day,

learn that people

stare in awe

at wondrous things,

concoct a tale

or poem

on how it possibly

came to be.

Andreas Gripp

April 4, 2025

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