Distance
Distance
The car idles smooth.
It’s a `67 Camarro,
bowling ball black with
a Thunderbird 390 special in it.
I glance in the rear view mirror,
and adjust the view a little with
my right hand.
I blink back a tear,
and move my hand down
and turn the key.
She is screaming now.
I look in the rear view mirror.
This time I can’t blink away my tears.
I can’t breathe.
My three year old daughter is
running out across the lawn
towards the car and she is screaming:
“Daddy! Daddy ! Don’t go, don’t GO !”
Nothing says it’s over like a restraining order.
I drop into gear,
and I glance into
the rear view mirror.
The car runs smooth.