Soon I'll sleep well
even alone.
There is no doubt
in my mind
that I earned my pay
last night.
The twelve-hour shift
was brutal;
true blood money
for a change.
When we finally came out
a buddy slapped my back
to celebrate the end.
My sweat splattered
off me like I'd been
dunked in a pool.
"Gross," he said
glaring at his palm
in disbelief.
My feet could barely
leave the ground
but I felt myself crack
that smile that people
seem to like
from a distance.
We all rehydrated
as best we could
and waited for
7 am to deliver us
to our respective beds.
But there are other mornings
not so chipper and promising.
There are times of downright
hopelessness where I wonder
why I bother doing anything at all.
Sometimes there's a new cure
for that, though.
All it requires is cell phone service.
And someday
when I can convince myself
that Josh is old enough to get it
I'll tell him that after my roughest days
of work I'd climb in my truck
and play the last voicemail
our father had left me
of my baby brother babbling
and asking where Michael is
in a timbre so innocent
that it's a marvel we share eyes.
It hasn't ceased to work yet.
It always brings me back to center--
"Stay in the middle of the road,"
as my last therapist said.
There's someone I'll have to
guide someday
even if I don't always know
the answer to the kid's question:
"Where are you, Michael?"
He's still hiding
but he'll be back.
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