I Stepped On The Grass

When I turned nine
I stepped on the grass
In full view of a "Do not touch" sign.

It was by a museum, this triangular plot
Cordoned off by a slight line of cord
Succulent amid the path's dusty sprawl.

I saw the sign, read as soon as I saw, but the sight made me pause
For a different reason, perusing the patch, wondering why
This plot, beside others, was banned.

And so I looked – and tasted
Almost at once, the ice-cream sweet tinge of the chance
That just one step would send me to claim.

Before I moved, I imagined the wonder
A barefoot touch might bear, might bring
Cool green sprouts springing beneath my toes.

Suddenly I felt, insupportable dryness,
Those incipient cracks that – before unnoticed –
Bit, scratched, plagued my feet.

So I removed my sandals before the bushes
And, hearing no voice but the skin's thirst and the risk's thrill
I let my toes dive.

One moment of bliss –
Then the deep tones of divine displeasure
Made me start, and turn, and tremble.

"Is that fun?" he asked, his face surely less severe
Than my guilt-struck eyes made it,
Seen atop this pillar of a guard.

I couldn't speak.
Caught, the cool tendrils froze cold
And I stared, unable to explain.

In a moment, I saw from his stance – this grass
If gleefully trampled by hundreds of feet
Would waste into straws, dry like the path beside.

My steps, defiant, untrammeled by law
Would careen into crime –
My toes were ten stamps of destruction.

All this I imagined, dropping my eyes
As authority's nod sent me backwards -
Rejoining the dust, I thought of jail.

With a wave, I was dismissed
And ran, first dreading, then desiring the impending glance back
I knew I would take – at lost-paradise grass, at lone-paragon guard.

But, eyes widened, I looked, and stared again
For there, clear in the gazes of guard and of grass
Grew the hint of a smile.