When my son's car pulls up next to mine, waves of stink blast from his open window into mine

The driver's goofy smile tells

he does not remember 

     he spent 

last Christmas eve in jail 

     for another DUI

so I pull away without a word—

      run from thoughts that

chase me on the freeway 

     and all the rest of my life--

thoughts 

of what I might have said 

to change his mind, 

    to adjust his life--

to change this goddamned 

    ball game.  

Let him hit bottom, people say.  

     Let this abandoned building buckle, 

let all the junk catch fire

     and when the smoke clears, 

watch him rebuild 

      from ground up; 

watch him rise from ash like

     a brand new stadium,

watch him make those MVP

     home runs again.