Excerpt
Blessed are the meek


As the ride home was as silent as
I remember,
my son sat in the back seat
mulling over the argument

Why do I throw him into adulthood?
Delivering him from eleven to twenty-seven
in a matter of words.

He wonders what he could have done differently
as we both, sadly, know,
nothing.

Reaching the age of knowledge,
his experience of my tirades has dulled him
to the point that he no more wants to just
please me and apologize.

He has an understanding of the sheer madness
of the mayhem and wishes to exert his correctness.

God Bless this young mediator
for his clearness of vision
and artful deception of his
unthinking father.