“He's a real trouper,” the nurse says,
Returning you from the PEG scout film.
I cringe at these outdoor words,
But the allusion escapes you.
Your eyes are far and away,
Not in shared memories of pup tents
and campfires, just somewhere else,
Somewhere I cannot follow. . .
The branches are too thick and tangled.
You are leaving your child
Alone in the darkening woods.
I am cold and wet and scared—
Contending with strange monsters,
Demons like Tau and A-beta.
I ask you to please try again the soup,
But it only runs like rain
Down a fading wrinkled tarp.