mother and son

my time spills gasoline
and coffee. the clock ticks
toxins. i'm there by the shortest
curved distance, quarks
grease the wheels. a click of the
mouse and i'm nameless. her

time leans until old hip-
bones snap. childhood rhymes clot
arteries, a story told in
village dialect, caked with
clay. she knows she will
travel, but where's the ticket?

we share tea. we scribble
alternate alphabets, compare myths
of street and sofa. neither
will understand before nightfall.
in the beginning is our word, if in
that time her flesh and mine.

i say goodbye and drive off. it's
raining zeros and ones, the city
thrums. antivirus of red and green.
wet tires, beat of the windshield,
kiss of the night, once upon a
time, freeway slippery with stars.

© Robert Martens