It’s too late for breakfast, too
early for lunch
but he’s there,
listlessly eating chicken nuggets at 10:45 anyway,
the young son in mismatched superhero pajamas
sneakers but no socks,
vying for attention from dad,
competing with ghosts, with the past, with
what he thought he wanted, but ended up being smothered by.
after their first weekend together
not family, not mom/dad/kid.
I could see the strain,
I could see the desperate need
for escape from the constant
chatter, the constant need,
the constant discipline.
Dad, not used to,
not indoctrinated in
what it’s like to share a weekend with his child,
just him and him against the world,
and maybe the world was winning,
and maybe Dad was seeing, finally,
how mom kept it going,
kept things smooth and seamless
and did her damndest to keep it all together
for as long as she could.
Maybe she went out dancing last night
or had a fancy dinner
with a new friend or
took a bubble bath, drank a glass of wine and went to bed early.
Maybe she tied not to cry,
missing her boy, her boys.
Missing the life she thought she’d had,
hoping in giving it up she did the right thing,
hoping he wasnt’t taking the little one out
in mismatched pajamas and
but no socks.
Tableau Series #2 – A dad and a little boy out and about – the story was screaming from him. I could feel it shimmering off of him like heat off of pavement.