The waiter passes
a heavy plate right over the baby

and later sets a steak knife
within the child’s reach.

The waiter doesn’t yet have
(and spends little time with) children.

My hand goes up
automatic as an airbag.

Forgive them father,
for they know not.

I slide the knife to the middle
toward the salt and pepper.

I didn’t even notice the soft spot
until a week after his birth.

Locked in on his face,
and documenting the frequency of
input and output

I failed to notice
his heart

beating up at me
from the top of his head.