In the Parking Lot

As hard as I tried and failed to fix you

the first time around, I’d like to try again,

maybe take you to the Tastee Freeze, though 

you would have to drive since I’m fourteen,

and we could lean against the car and talk

with other sons and mothers in the parking lot,

and you could light up as usual and ask

each boy about his happiest dream

and each would get that look of wonder

you always triggered in my friends when they saw

you really wanted to know who they were.

The other mothers’ mouths would drop open

and they would gather around and ask you

how you did that, as if it was a trick, 

and you would, get this, you’d ask them 

their dreams, and they’d shuffle their feet a little,

maybe look off, and one or two would start to cry,

the way you did so many nights, the way

the others could finally admit they did, too,

and because of this, I would not have to fix

a thing, for you were always just being you.

The one wanting fixing, you could now see through.