A professor of writing once told his class that a good project would be to write a sonnet every day for a year. It was absolutely impossible, he said, to write 365 bad sonnets in a row. I've always wondered if he was right.
Monday, April 13, 2009
#418: Worst Case Scenario
The skateboard waiting by the bottom stair:
concussion. Broken ankle. ER trip.
Deep tissue bruise. Brain damage. Just one slip,
and Tragedy can catch you unaware.
The bike ride down the driveway: not so bad;
but then, a speeding car. You draw your breath
to warn him--screeching tires and certain death.
And all your fault. You should have been there, Dad.
But worse than this: you make that one wrong choice
or say some angry words you can't take back.
Then years down the line: the blood-red hate
shot through his eyes, the venom in his voice,
his childish memories all edged in black--
and you, speechless and old, grown wise too late.
_
Labels:
Family
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment