Palavras lidas #637

Sins of the Fathers
by Mark Vinz

My daughter wants the car tonight, no,
needs the car tonight—to go somewhere,
to do some things, you know, be back
before it gets too late, of course,
if I say so, which I always do,
of course. I trust her—it's the others
I don't trust, the others I worry about,
and round we go again.

Headlights pass the driveway—
I study every shadow on the wall,
each voice from the dark street,
and laughter—faint, familiar
laughter, rising and falling
on every breath of wind.