Minefields

Down the hall,

Our young bare feet scamper,

Lightly on the carpet on the wood,

Wondering what's supposed to happen,

Turning corners going straight,

Tangling up teens and twenties,

And sequences,

Doors serve to man a watch,

As our young bare feet scamper,

Up onto down on cotton on springs,

To finish books that have been bugging us,

For weeks now.