1
My son is standing
in the driveway, trying
to talk with Mary, his ex,
who’s taking their kids
to St. Louis, eight hours away.
Sophie’s crying; George looks at me.
Mary lifts her hand
to show the diamond ring
from her new boyfriend.
After she backs out,
I wait for my son
to pull the dark sky down.
2
I gather the swim rings,
faded now, that held up
the kids all summer.
I have trouble finding the valves—
they’re pushed inside
like something umbilical.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 3.
William Palmer is a retired professor of English at Alma College in central Michigan. His poetry has appeared in Cold Mountain Review, J Journal, Poetry East, and Salamander. He has published two chapbooks: A String of Blue Lights and Humble.
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