Road Trip

Grandma has a new boyfriend,
Chuck, or Charles as she
likes to call him. I saw
her the other day clinging
like a panda on the back
of his motorcycle. Her
knitting needles and yarn were
sticking out of her backpack.
She met him on the internet
and says that he is her soul
mate. What about grandpa,
I ask her, and she dissmisses
that forty year marriage
with the back of her hand.
They are going to Atlantic City
for the weekend to try their
luck at the slots. Between
the two of them, their social
security checks, they figure
why not, what's there to lose.
She tells me in a whisper
that the little blue pill
has made all the difference
in the world. I close my eyes
and put my hands over my ears.
Just don't get hurt, I tell her.
Shhh, sonny boy, don't you worry
about me. I like having a man
around the house. She gives
me a wink. I cringe and tell
her, okay. Water my plants
and empty the cat's litter box
while I'm gone, will ya, she
asks when Chuck pulls up
on his Harley. He revs the
engine a few times as they
like to do, making the bike
belch and rumble. He smiles
and gives me little wave
with his black leather gloves,
the fingers cut out. I see
his nineteen-seventy mustache
beneath his visor and his grey
ponytail sticking out of the back
of his flat black helmet.
He has a POW decal and a small
American flag blowing in the
breeze, on the back of his bike,
close to where grandma's rear
end is wiggling and bouncing
as they pull away, on the road
to jersey. She tries to wave,
but doesn't want to let go
of Chuck's slippery leather
jacket, so she yells out a
scratchy, TOODALOO!