Why Worry

by Brock Dethier

Because I am looking out a long way off I see him soon, early, in time, see his limp, sense his crying though he's still a five minute hobble from Mom. Because I know the story of the cyclist on foot, I read the hurried uneven step, catch my breath though he's still so far away I'm not sure it's my son or if the limp's a skip. Because I worry, U hurry from the study in the loft to listen to the story of the truck that came too close, the fear that no one was looking out for him.