The van to the Cayman airport hits every pothole,
shook every bone. I felt the ride in my teeth.
My Dad bought some duty free Johnny Walker,
a logwood trinket, a gift for his second set of kids..
A siege of harbor cranes are bobbing in the sway,
waiting for the moon to dig its way into the sand.
The woman you don’t love, the second wife,
kisses you, holds your face in her skinny hands.
Home is 430 miles away. “The expensive dump,” he
calls it, where your mom lives just 30 miles from him.
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