On Family Days
You don’t try hard enough, she’d say.
All the while, his thoughts grow increasingly gray.
She can’t smell the fear he inhabits,
a macabre work of art from which he comes and goes,
the run of wind at a deserted murder scene.
She forgets, as he forgets, control
will arrive soon enough,
and that brachiated spectacle of blame
and praise will dissipate
like hurricanes dispel after they touch land.
They’ll both be left wondering about the pieces
of debris, the river’s current,
and how much to fix of whatever comes undone.