Preparation for Adulthood
by Brian Rihlmann
I hear it when I walk in
and as I round a corner
I see the source--
he sits in the basket
of the shopping cart
about two years old
screaming
while dad pushes
and mom inspects the fruit
their jaws are set
their eyes trained elsewhere
statues of stoicism
as I approach
I see his little face
reddened cheeks
shiny with tears
and as I whisper
“poor little guy”
a single
powerful sob
wells up
and shakes me
the screams
don’t even bother me--
I wanna hug that kid
but what do I know
about being a parent?
maybe letting him
cry it out
is best, you know?
after all
how many of us wind up
in that same situation…
sitting alone in a room
cold as the metal cage
of a shopping cart
with a bottle
or without one
or pills
pipes
needles…
surrogate family
on the tube
virtual lovers
on the computer
except we don’t scream anymore
because no one will hear
and no one will come
and we’re used to that
and as I round a corner
I see the source--
he sits in the basket
of the shopping cart
about two years old
screaming
while dad pushes
and mom inspects the fruit
their jaws are set
their eyes trained elsewhere
statues of stoicism
as I approach
I see his little face
reddened cheeks
shiny with tears
and as I whisper
“poor little guy”
a single
powerful sob
wells up
and shakes me
the screams
don’t even bother me--
I wanna hug that kid
but what do I know
about being a parent?
maybe letting him
cry it out
is best, you know?
after all
how many of us wind up
in that same situation…
sitting alone in a room
cold as the metal cage
of a shopping cart
with a bottle
or without one
or pills
pipes
needles…
surrogate family
on the tube
virtual lovers
on the computer
except we don’t scream anymore
because no one will hear
and no one will come
and we’re used to that
Brian Rihlmann was born in New Jersey and currently resides in Reno, Nevada. He writes free verse poetry and has been published in The Blue Nib, The American Journal of Poetry, Cajun Mutt Press, The Rye Whiskey Review, and others.