My dad transforms for children.
His rational, practical thoughts cede control to a
primal bear.  Perhaps I still remember his iron grasp,
and roars, reeling about the living room:

Bruza, Buzz, Burr
“Ima get-yah!”

Grandpop couldn’t stop laughing at toddler me,
He would chuckle at who knows what, I was being serious!
His eyes would gleam beneath that broad-brimmed-farmers hat,
and I still remember them the day he let me “drive” his old Sears tractor:

Brum, Brumm, Bra-rar
“Don’t go too fast!”

My brother’s boys are his spitting image.  They mirror
his long limber limbs and haystack head, and his sly sardonic smile,
at their sister’s expense.  Incapable of sitting still more than moments,
they follow daddy’s every step, looking forward to the day
they’re big enough to handle- power tools:

Burra, Burt, Buzziinng! 
“Be careful with that!”

Maybe one day I’ll get to be the goof,
all I need is a good excuse.