Visitations

Mom and Dad are clear tonight though both prematurely dead. They don't know me as I am now, their image of me has rigor mortis. Mom worries about my drinking, dad is pissed over the fact that I hate my job, and want to go to Paris to write leaving my young wife stranded in perpetual poverty. I wish they would both grow up, but they hang around my dreams like fretful kids. Worse still, wherever they are now (be it heaven or just some retirement home in my head), like me, they haven't a clue, not a clue about tomorrow.