In a moment of middle-aged madness
I decide to run the flight of stairs
two at a time. Heart racing,
I am reminded of how in dreams
I can go faster if I pump my arms.
I might even be able to fly.
Breathless, I triumphantly reach the pinnacle.
But gravity has its say.
My protesting legs buckle and instantly give way,
propelling me forward on my knees.
Pride scatters in shards on the speckled carpet
where I appear to be praying before
a Technicolor poster of Johnny Depp.
No one notices.
Stunned, I collect myself, continuing
to the concession counter to meet my family.
After the movie, on the way out, I swear
Johnny Depp winked as I passed.
This time I ride the escalator.