The Bus Roars Away

and I wonder about the kid.

Hungover, twitchy, uncomfortable, lost.

Familiar.

Those untied shoes reminded

me of my little brother.

Frankie never tied his either.

I unlock Willows

and walk around

the front desk.

Jim from Adult Day Care

shuffles in.

Supposed to be next door.

          “Got any beer, Girlie?”

          Same question every time.

We’re some distant-memory

liquor store in his brain.

“Nuh-uh, Jim, time to go back.”

I grab my book, take his elbow,

lock up again.

Deliver him to a nurse—

his keeper of the day.

“Second time this week,”

I tell her.

        Her skinny face gets red like

        I’m blaming her for his escape.

        (Oooh, that’s right, I am.)

        She takes him by the sleeve.

        “Come sit down,” she tells him.

        “You just got confused.”

        Glares at me.

        “Everybody does,

        sometime or other.”