the yellow light

your father
finally
succumbs
to new glasses
after 84 years
of buying them
off the rack
at the drugstore,
his vision
blurred
to the point
of disaster
behind the wheel
of his impala.
is it green,
or is it red,
he'd ask at
sixty miles an
hour, speeding
along the coastal
highway
with a coffee
in his hand
and you bracing
yourself
for an intersection
full
of unseen
traffic. yellow,
you'd say. think
of the lights
as always
yellow.