Mobility

Being Born

All humans, be they girls or boys, are born
To move. For months they will not see the light,
But they'll insinuate a feeling presence
Before they darkly wriggle into sight.

Leaving the dubious shelter of the womb,
Even perhaps before the cord's been sundered
The wailing child may flap her arms and legs
A token that as yet no one has blundered.

The Crawler

Lying face down the infant soon will show
That it is not content to stay confined
In one place; for hands will grasp the bars
That surround the crib — the vertical to find.

Place a child upon the floor and watch
Her try to emulate the serpent's slide
By using belly combined with frantic limbs
To crawl to reach whatever it is she's spied.

The Toddler

The toddler starts holding parental hands.
Dithering at first in something of a trance,
Then balancing, she casts off all restraints,
And scuttles off without a backward glance.

This strange requires a careful supervision.
For her curious mind most quickly turns
To wonder at the what and how and why,
Before the child has learned that fire burns.

Devices

Walking and running are not enough. The child,
By acquisition of a vehicle,
Fulfils her wish to emulate the grown-ups,
And like the boy next door she gets a tricycle.

Infancy left well behind finds both boys
And girls desiring thrills brought on by speed.
The human powered bicycle gives way
To motor bike and car, which substitute for toys.

The Walker

No! Chronology has not been cast
Aside! My walker is not animated;
It's just a thing: four wheels mounted fast
Upon a frame without a warning ding-a-ling.
Two handles at waist level let me push
The thing, as in past years I used to wheel
A pram or stroller. Nowadays the flush
Of age allows no moving on an even keel.

In theory walkers are designed to aid
A user to move naturally upright,
And there's the rub, for in reality
I stoop too much, yet fail to take account
Of nasty changes in the ground, such as a
A crumbled kerbstone's dust and sand
On which I fell down into lulu's land.