Windows down. The scent of crisp leaves freshens the air. I’m blind
To everything outside my own little world. Just for me, the radio blows dust of an old
Tune, a favorite once upon a time. I sing off-key, loud. The wind in my hair shakes away
Any concerns I may have had; Ha! What could they have been? The world was mine,
My oyster, and that was my day in the sun, to do with whatever I please
So young, too young to appreciate freedom. So then -- was it a waste?
Soon enough sister smacks sister, pulls hair, and my blind
Rage ramps up. Red light, I turn my face towards the healing sun, please
Give me strength, STOP SCREAMING, I scream, irony lost in the chaos as my old
Head reluctantly welcomes back a familiar ache. GIMME THAT ITS MINE
Rings out from the cretins in the back. Calgon take me away!
Remember that ad? Back before we could comprehend a need to get away?
Food not eaten was shipped to
I do, but I can’t slip into the fact that the threatening words must now be mine
Flash in the rearview catches my eye, more screaming (me): YOU’LL MAKE HER BLIND!
PUT DOWN THAT STICK NO GIVE IT TO ME GIVE IT TO ME NOW! This is getting old
So I switch gears, plaster a grin, dripping in sugar set an example: Please?
Sesame Street Rock replaces old Billy Joel, their singing voices so sweet. Please
Let this moment last. I roll up windows, call out “children, pull your hands away”
NO! Her automatic response, and the moment’s gone. She’s back to her contrary old
Ways. Why should I she demands and I talk of hands cut off, the horrible waste
Yet she simply grins, says she’d prefer a hook to a hand. I’m left, as always, blind-
Sided. I glimpse them in the mirror: furious, feisty, funny beings. Undeniably mine
Self-determined, strong willed, these traits and yes, the stubbornness too, they’re all mine
Just as suddenly they turn, defending each other, concerned even for me, so eager to please
I’m caught off guard, as always, and wipe a tear from my blind
Spot before turning away
From the traffic, from the less fortunate cars who don’t have this afternoon to waste
With children singing along to songs from the old
Days. They tear across the grass to reach the swings as I settle into an old
Bench, peeling with age in the autumn sun. The breeze is gentle. The day is mine
Once more. Mine to share with them, and I will pay close attention. I will not waste
A resource as precious as an autumn day. I will remind them to say please
As I hand out sandwiches and they will recycle the plastic and throw the crusts away
How could I envy my younger self? Carefree, yes, but ignorant of all this, still so blind
Youth is no waste, for we live it again as we grow old
Watching them I am anything but blind. These wondrous imps are mine
They ask for one more push, remembering to say please. I smile, and push. They swing away.
