Home Alone Again

Once he dared to think
he could be delivered from this,
but it has always pulled him back.

The neighbors stare at his car
all the way to the parking space out front.
One gives a perfunctory wave.

In his childhood home
the air is thick and sugary.  Old songs
cling to his new shoes.

His mother is still waving food
at him and Dad’s still
outside

waiting for the obligatory
visit to discuss the tractor and
the shed.

A quick sandwich to keep the peace,
then back to the car.  He waits
until the turn off from Main Street,

into the back roads leading back to the highway,
to roll down the window,
turn up the radio, and scream.