Watching Over Her Flock

eight minutes late

“The car in front of me went really slow
through that dirt area. We're almost there.”

she deflects in a text
while passing through
a 200 ft construction zone

we walk
in the direction
of her parked car

at three car lengths away
her arms begin flapping like clothing
hung out to dry in a strong wind

STOP

we reverse our path as
she finishes unbuckling the child’s seat

she delivers our son
I’m feeling wrong for spending this time with him

like I'm no longer his parent

returning to her car
she watches like a surveillance camera
recording a child abduction

as we turn northward
she moves rapidly
not to lose her picture

a screech and honk blast out—
she's nearly T-boned
re-entering the road

her next cover:
the eternal stop sign

her best view

with our backs turned
she continues watching

—

it's now 4 am

her atoms are not at the stop sign
I'm safe in bed
walls are just closer molecules

she still watches