loading
up his oversized
v8 truck,
raised high
on giant wheels.
his weekend son is with him,
lanky
and quiet,
sixteen years old,
bewildered
and distracted by his phone.
i see fishing rods
go in,
a cooler,
a skim board, folding
chairs and blankets.
a tent.
odd luggage, of various
sizes and colors.
it's for a week
somewhere.
i imagine.
along some stretch
of the Carolina coast.
i remember trips like that,
trips that i'll
never take again.
i want to yell out the window,
don't forget
the bug spray,
but i don't.
No comments:
Post a Comment