Whisked away by Uber in a Black Buick

After they left, I took a walk around the block.

Tried to stay in the shade as the sun was running hot.

Rounded the bend and came home on Greyhorse.

You can do it, you can do it, I panted.

And so I did.

Sarah made us coffee for breakfast.

Oh, I said, it's in the old cup of the Travis Family, the first owners of our house. Nancy Myers, across the street, keeps in touch. The old man died of Parkinson's and Arlene is fighting breast cancer.

Took a day off from Second Home, telling Kim, my kids are in town.

Poem is on the way.

MOSQUITO

So many noises in my house
Sarah and Ethan sleeping on
clean sheets in my bedroom

When I went upstairs to tuck
them in, I said, Sarah! You've
grown a beard since I
last saw you.

Now, a toilet flushes
footfalls like lumberjacks
across the carpeted hall

All pale in comparison to
the worst sound of all
a buzzing mosquito.

I wrap myself in a yellow quilt
made for me by Jonatha Johnson
Smothering, I peek out
the buzz comes inside

Slap! Slap! Slap again!

What if there's a home invasion
I think. "The kids" will never
hear it as they sleep with
ear stopples.

How can I save them?

No tools of battle
downstairs. I shall heft
Helene's old Sony radio
over my head and use
as a sword and a breastplate
and they will run screaming
from my door.