Daughter-Father Chase Scene
Jonathan Moya
He is ahead.
She is six lengths behind.
His phone rings six times
then goes to voicemail.
Hello!!! the text from her
says 30 seconds later.
He see her in the rearview,
coughs three times, just drives.
Daddy, I'm sorry,
the next text says.
He drives straight.
Six hearts, praying hands pop up.
They just passed
their second state line.
Daddy, do you care?
The road is hot, prairie vast,
In the rearview he sees her slow,
stop, fade away in the dusk, smoke.
The last text appears,
goes dark in battery failure.
The final image: her and the baby.
He throws the phone in the glove box.
He adjusts the rearview, coughs,
continues the long drive,
listens to the tires pass the present,
run over the past, move into the future.
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