White-knuckled grip on the wheel
he glances over his shoulder
guns the gas
merges into morning rush-hour.
Stuck in gridlock
other conquests playback…
toddling on sweet chubby legs
running to beam a gap-toothed mouth
gliding across the ice after a shutout.
I glance at this man-child
imagine more adventures…
prom, graduation, college, marriage, fatherhood.
As he eases into the school parking lot,
my stomach lurches.
Will there be more firsts?
Will he even come home today?
Or will he become another statistic
of this sacrificed generation?