Caren Krutsinger Poet Narrative

I Wish He Had Left Home

I am in a bad mood he says, wanting attention.
My ears hear, but my heart will not stop.
I am in the bowels of a chapter, and it is getting serious.
My next thought is crucial; I type a bit faster.

Trying to drown him out, and do successfully.
I wish I had some attention, he says.
I wish he had a date, I wish he had a wife.
I wish he had left home. But here he is, at twenty-six.

Unable to entertain himself, dwelling on negatives.
Go see your mother, I say to my nephew.
Glad when he disappears to let her pour him a glass of milk.
If he comes back with that whining voice, I cannot guarantee his safety.

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