I close the blinds, darken the house.
Suddenly Dad stands, as if
remembering an appointment.
He rushes out of the house
as if a taxi had pulled to the curb
to take him to the airport.
Sometimes I pull up next to him on a road.
Dad, do you want a ride home?
"Who are you?" he asks.
Will I find myself one day
When I misplace a pair of scissors
or forget to lower the heat on a burner
will the sun pull me towards Florida?
Will language become a white noise?
Will my children become strangers
tugging at me? Will my husband
become a nurse serving meds on a tray?
Where will I turn when everyone
is a stranger? What
will I do, but try to find a road
to lead me safely home?
Bob is a programmer living in California. He is a big an of the Rolling Stones and easy times. Recent work of his can be found at Chantarelles Notebook, Thick with Conviction, Raving Dove, Mississippi Review and Pedestal Magazine.
back to issue 8
take me home