9:41:01 a.m., incoming text:
“You are late”
The heat from her words
melts my Apple watch.
"Oh!" I snap out of my trance.
I’d told her we would leave
for the dentist at 9:40 a.m.
That is, before I fell into a side quest:
spring cleaning my closet.
On school days, our roles reverse.
But today it’s her turn to wait,
and she’s quick to judgment.
I don't reply.
9:41:30 a.m. incoming images:
Photo evidence
of her promptness,
two POV snaps
from her seat
in my car
in the garage.
I don't rush; no need.
I gather my bag, swig tea,
find my sunnies, and
select the right shoes.
I exit from the mud room,
see her seething in the back.
"You're LATE!" She exclaims,
half-snarl, half-glee at catching me.
"Ma-ommmmm! Come on.
You said '9:40!' We're late."
I nod, silently, nonplussed.
This is fun, being unruffleable!
"If you say you're gonna BE
somewhere, at a certain time,
then you should BE THERE!"
She underlines and bolds her points.
"How does it feeeeeeeel?"
I query, not at all guilty.
She rolls her eyes and parries:
"I expected more from you."
I hope this moment
stays with her
next school day,
when she demands
yet another ride.
Because I already know that
on that day, I'll be there, prompt.
Mummifying in the driver seat
losing the remnants of my mind.
