Is he coming?
The “indestructible 350”
has a familiar rumble.
Triggers me to peer out
windows, take down
steps two at a time.
The truck pulls up the long hill.
Breathe deep. A week of futile fears
and uneasy sleep disappears
with the dust in the driveway.
Just to see the laugh in his eyes,
touch his bare head, hold those
scratchy curled fingers,
his voice warm and cranky.
The door creaks when it opens
like my favorite song.
