Tuck Me In, Tell Me Good Night
Unsure
about the dark
my eyes rolled
around the room
My son crawled out
from under
the bed
He tucked
the blankets
around me
When he stopped
moving he
disappeared
my son who
unchains
lightning
from his teeth
*
I served him
a sandwich
I dropped
it where
my son sat
In the kitchen
the garbage
overflowed
My son
in the other
room my hand
crammed down
the trash’s throat
*
Being a parent
is being
under the bed
and on top
In the morning
I sat on the edge
of the mattress
Unafraid
each
second sliced
up the dark
In Traffic
a black Accord
with its blinker on
I sigh
my daughter says
everything behind
inching toward
an empty space
we do not move
she waves the car
into our lane
& raises the volume’s
invisible fist
Brian Clifton has work in: Pleiades, Guernica, Cincinnati Review, Salt Hill, Colorado Review, The Journal, Beloit Poetry Journal, and other magazines. They are an avid record collector and curator of curiosities.