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Weekend Warrior

August 14, 2011

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.

Both unkempt,

perhaps unbathed

after their first weekend together

as father/son,

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.

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