Deja Vu

He’s going to take him away again.

I need to prepare.

The dread is forming, like a rain cloud.

Drip, drip, drip.

My tears, there are so many.

Because he’s not safe with him.

Because he’s not smart.

Because they both take risks.

Bring out the worst in each other.

And I’ll be on the receiving line at the funeral.

While he sits gobsmacked.

“How did this happen?” They’ll all ask.

And I’ll only be able to mutter: “Go ask his father.”

“He hates you because you’re good!”

At night I lock the front door, the back door and the sliders.

It’s meant to keep the bad guys out.

But one of them has snuck in.

He’s downstairs in my guest room.

At the foot of my child’s convalescent bed.

No one invited him, but he’s here.

In every room.

Lurking and sulking.

Grumbling and eating.

Eating and eating and EATING!

Like the fat lady in the circus.

Devouring everything in sight and not washing a goddamn dish.

Tacos and my soul.

Munching and gnawing until there’s nothing left.

Ironic, sadistic, F60.2.

It’s going to be a long night.