I stretch a leg


On the inside

Of the front window

Chevy Silverado


Timber’s tavern

Sparse parking lot

Sober going in

Drunk coming out


Air turns icy

But we wait

Glad he’s there

Not with us


Little brother and I

Not yet puberty

Fog on the windows

From voices unheard


Entrance opens

Stare at the door

Wide eyes

Quick pulse


Finally he emerges

Clock says one

Pulse quickens

Unlocks driver’s door


Face red yet relaxed

Waft of spirits

Hum of the engine

Seatbelt clicks


Driving is different

Peaceful in his weaving

A silver snake

Heading home


We go to sleep

Safe in our rooms

Tonight he wasn’t angry

Tonight he is sated