poetry

late again blues

I am late again. I can’t find my keys. I can’t find the baby. The baby has my keys. I grab the baby and he grabs the keys.
I double park. Emergency break. Unwind him from his plastic packaging. Rush his tiny body down the sidewalk. 
She stands there waiting. Toe tapping. Eyes melting in direct sunlight. Face and hair equally glittering red.
“It’s all over,” I think.

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