The boy stood beside his car seat, coat open,
small duffle bag at his feet,
like a hitchhiker,
left where he’d been dropped.
His mother talked on her cell phone,
voice carrying across the lot,
watching the cars drive by the gas station,
impatient to get on with her life.
Somebody is late.
Written for G-Man and his Friday Flash 55. He has a wonderful poem this week extolling the inner witch in us all. Click on his link to read the history behind the Hedgewitch.