Late for Dinner

by Thomas F. Wylie


I kept calling him and he did not respond
I knew he was in the school yard as I could still
see the front wheel of his bike in the faint light that
remained, and as I looked again I saw him jump on the bike
and ride the very short distance toward me and when he arrived
he spoke excitedly about the one-handed-left-field-catch he just made
as together we lifted the still-shiny-new blue bike up and into the entry way
and laughing went into the kitchen for the dinner I just prepared for the four of us
with his sister and father sitting with their food at the table waiting for our arrival and
his father acting very impatient while giving me a hard angry look as we took our seats
and he cried out, Oh mom, not meat loaf again I hate meat loaf with the last word coming
out as the huge callused right hand of his father reached out wide and struck a swift surprise slap
to the left side of his head as he with chair and glasses flew hard onto the floor and me screaming,
Stop it, you are hurting him as his father stood, flinging his uneaten plate of food at the kitchen sink
while stomping out loudly with banging thumps from his black engineer-booted feet shouting, Serves him right,
stupid dumb-ass kid.


Copyright © 2013 by Thomas F. Wylie

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