july 4, 1998

by James Benger

"It's all them drugs she does,"

Mom says, swerving her

year-old convertible,

insurmountable bank note,

down the trodden path that is

Marquette Ave.

We're following Mom's sister

to the town fairgrounds

to see the annual fireworks show,

which, as always will be

shot across the Wabash River.

I don't tell her from my copilot's chair

that she's driving down the middle of the road;

don't need another lecture about how

me and all the other yahoos hug the gutter

like a junkie hugs the crackpipe.

"Drives like she's from Illinois."

You need a pack of smokes

and a jug of wine,

I think, but don't say.

The other day she asked me

if I could get her some pot,

and got mad when I claimed

I knew nothing about that kind of stuff.

"Look at that," she says.

"Might as well be driving in people's yards."

I absently wonder if she's figured out

that I sometimes sneak a beer or three

from the back of the fridge,

or the occasional handfull of nips of brandy

from the bottle behind the coffee pot.

We're quiet for a minute,

the pines and signs there, but also not.

In less than a year,

we'll live in government subsidized housing

in another part of the country.

In a little over a decade,

I'll be married.

A couple months later,

she'll be dead.

Raindrops spackle the windshield,

and the sky goes prematurely twilight.

Well this is bullshit," Mom says.

Sometimes we agree.

Photo of James Benger

BIO: James Benger is the author of several books of poetry and prose. He serves on the Board of Directors of The Writers Place and the Riverfront Readings Committee, and is the founder of the 365 Poems In 365 Days online workshop, and is Editor In Chief of the anthology series. He lives in Kansas City with his wife and children.