He
He wears an old Silver Wood hat,
and looks out of place in the passenger seat with
two kids in the back.
His skin's tan and cracked,
the sprouting whiskers on his upper lip
emerging from a one-day shave skip,
two Christmas tree air fresheners
dangle from the mirror, while
his tissue peeks out of his sleeve.
He's driven now
by his oldest son
who's challenged
and changed him
more than anyone.
He's suspicious, but
tired.
He's proud, but
knows the limitations
of silver eyes
and
arms that move at half speed,
and so
He waits
to fulfill his
new role in their predictable
routine.
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