The Road to Disney World

Suddenly as

a car through the living room

at 70 miles an hour

you are in a fast food joint again

colors projected with fluorescent gloom

you order the picture of a hamburger

and are not disappointed,

the tastes tied to that picture

you unravel with your teeth and tongue

when you were a kid

you got a plastic toy, a cartoon something

inflated into your dimension

cast in Taiwanese molds endlessly

it broke the next day

or you lost it in the back seat

where the belt buckle sprouts

the buckle with the red button

guarding the space between seats

where fidgeting hands dive to discover no end

but the grit of dirt, dust and knotted hairs

now you are the driver

at 70 miles an hour

your son, a precocious child

after four hours deliberation

on the road to Disney World

resolutely unbuckles his car seat

with two hands grips the red buckle

glances behind him

at the steady eyes of the rear view mirror

and pulls himself in

you find him in a week

covered in dust and sticky grit

40 years old with a thousand yard stare

clutching a blood-smeared Aladdin figurine.