Vrooom, Vrooom,
he drives up the sidewalls,
sparks flying off the tires,
invisible crowds cheering

he’s only a child,
impressionable, self-conscious,
“I’m scared” - his favorite phrase,
afraid of the dog, afraid of the car.

We go out to eat.
With his brother, we color
and he’s afraid of the waitress singing ”Happy Birthday,”
still, he shares his French fries,

and smiles sweetly while blowing bubbles into his root beer,
glancing up to make sure I’m watching;
I smile and wish
I could do more,

Their honest father is gone, killed in an accident,
now the loving mother can barely take care of anything.
The boys must learn from each other
about life, love, everything.

They put up walls of pain and indecision,
blocking people out with selective hearing
again, “I’m scared,” as I bring them home.
This time, I am too.

A decrepit house, a lone light in the kitchen,
there are people gathered
drinking, smoking, laughing,
we walk in unnoticed.

The mother is away,
transporting clothes, toys, along with an eviction notice.
She desperately tries to fix the toxic situation,
every time, life turns her around.

I ask no questions.
And the boy,
the birthday boy,
is afraid.