The roof’s pitch will return thrown balls,
but prepare for the unpredictable
stagger, the occasional catch
in the gutter.
Wind will push your bike downhill until
you learn balance: how to center, lean
into gravity’s air, never
too right, too left.
Shoelaces and neckties will fall into slop-knots:
uneven ends twisted and pinched,
tangled and forced into staying
a little while longer.
Pencils will guide your cursive into loops
that capture whitespace, points
directing the reader’s eye
to crooked lines’ ends.
Razor blades planted too deep will teach
proper pressure and easy stroke: curves
and patterns all yours to follow,
avoiding blood.
John Davis Jr. is a seventh-generation Floridian, a third-generation citrus grower, a second-generation educator, and a first-generation poet. He enjoys spending time in the outdoors with his family.