My grandson
wants to be Hulk Maui
with his Poly hair a riptide
of waves, twisting and surfing,
an undertow of the Universe
below his shoulder blade.

His sturdy legs pound across the floor,
a path of lava behind him, still steaming
in his wake, doesn’t know his own strength.

Hide everything that looks like a stick.
Hide the dog in the other room.
Put everything dangerous on the top shelf,
until he sleeps, on the floor, under the table,
In his mama’s arms, hands and feet still,
round cheeks soft, and hair like a waterfall.