by Claire Scott

Car Keys at Eighty-Two or How Did This Happen to a Nice Couple Like Us

we find a middle ground
a morsel for each of us
to tuck in a pocket
no lingering resentment
not Sicily (me), not Croatia (you)
but Costa Rica (us)
not Dunkirk (too violent)
not Green Book (too sappy)
but Roma (perfect)

antediluvian bliss
before the flood of
new information
the eye doctor gazing at a spot on the wall
says stop driving
nerve damage to your eye
poor peripheral vision
he wants your car keys, your wolf pelt
your axe made of stone

you say you see just fine
no accidents, no tickets
lugged two bison home last week
arms across your chest
discussion over
I suggest, demand, refuse to drive with you
will do all the hunting myself
wild goats on the back seat
a woolly mammoth in the trunk

no flat field with wild seeds & berries where we can meet
only chasms & crevasses
can’t drive just on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays
or on even numbered days
my seething anger, your stubborn refusal
lined up facing each other
missing only sharpened sticks


The Zen of Airports

my favorite places
get there plenty early, hours early, even a day ahead
then the Nirvana of nothing,

no dishes to wash, no dog to walk
no nosey neighbor saying your lawn needs mowing
no guilt you are immersed in yet another Danielle Steele novel

or watching a waste-of-time film on your phone

so pleased your flight is delayed

soon enough sassy grandkids
your sister saying you’re getting shorter
your mother whining what took you so long

just breathe and wait while the same announcements play over and over
like Buddhist chants om mani padme hum

flight 67B to Rome boarding at
we are sorry to announce flight number 708 to
unattended baggage is subject to search, seizure and

wait! would that be me sitting here alone with my SunChips and strawberry soda

I see TSA agents coming toward me, guns drawn, dogs sniffing
I guess no enlightenment today


Photo by via Pexels