Fishing trip
We’re supposed to be on the road by now
but Ted can’t seem to find the car keys
and DeSalvo’s rolling joints in the next room
sitting Indian style in the loveseat
I’m busy stuffing my backpack with
chocolate bars and graham crackers
and marshmallows and assortment
of individual servings of breakfast cereals
and Frito Lay snacks
Ted is arguing with his folks who
never seem to grow old
his mother with a dirty dishrag in her hand
his father smoking Marlboro Reds
and lambasting his son for chores undone
I’m in the garage now
stocking the cooler with Bud heavy
and whole milk and boxes of Sunny D
carton of 18 raw eggs and Oscar Mayer bacon
Let’s go let’s go I yell but nobody hears me
DeSalvo’s now out of my sight
most likely licking the edge of the rolling paper
eyes smiling and marveling
at his own imperfections
Hey Ted where the hell’s the ice I yell
but I don’t think he heard me
but I do think I heard his dad slap him
upside his head
Finally he comes out all red faced
DeSalvo right behind him smiling
checking his pants for a Bic lighter
Everything okay I ask
Yeah Ted says let’s get the fuck out of here
we’re taking the Lincoln Continental
march two thousand eighteen
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