Rubber Neck
Every time the circling turkey
Vulture sirens pass our house,
I take inventory of where
Mine are. Need to make sure
The call emergency’s expanding
Sound spins off to
Is not too close to my bliss;
That the whispering touch of E.M.T.s
Will settle someone else’s
Soul to coma, jettison words
Through an impartial mouthpiece
Toward another mother’s ears.
While, through my phone,
Cam jokes, “Mom, I’m just calling
With the 4-1-1. I’m at the club.
Just letting you know in case
Something happens. Okay, Mom?” But
When I imagine him leaving
Club Three-One-Three with another
Boy in a homophobic
Part of town, I
See him falling from Charlie’s
Bridge or tied to Matthew’s
Fence. When
Zoë calls from the shady
Park, she wants
To play there untended into the evening.
But even as I imagine her friends
Close by, the candy doling strangers,
Lure her from the swinging glee.
I swell like a siren swells; I
Can’t say yes to either,
And the ambulance heads
South, away from my emotional
Lockdown, and rolls toward
Another mother’s disaster.
