It all ends here:

The doors part

and I walk into the dull

fluorescence

of a parking garage

dripping with rain water,

acres of concrete,

late night humidity.

I cannot cry.

Like a tired hitchhiker,

I bear my duffel’s burden

and consider my presentation:

posture as a soldier,

love like a son.

You can read a person

in his eyes alone

my drill sergeant said.

The stress, the hungry void,

the breaking point—it’s present,

the weight now carried

in all the wrong places.

My father, one year later,

a carpenter’s muscles

fallen to an old man’s paunch,

my mom’s eyes

crow’s feet and quiet desperation.

They watch me approach,

two seniors on a blind date

posing for the prom.