Friday, March 26, 2021

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.