My Son

My son is dangerous.
Brown messy boy hair.
Eyes just like mine.
Perfect nose somehow.

Twelve year old hands.
Jeans hanging loose.
Shoulders already broad.
Shoes but no socks (of course).

Lives life in fun.
Not weighted with worry.
Sees his path well lit.
Laughs as he starts off.

How can a mother explain.
Love that goes straight through?
Joy and fear hold hands.
"One day you'll understand."

Bond like I never had.
Too many photographs.
Memories sweet and happy.
My son is dangerous.