Misgivings....

How many times have I pulled out of your driveway
Unable to stop my chest from aching?
This dull ache….
I don’t know why it never ceases.  
We don’t look at each other.  
Just hand off our forlorn son,
Much like a wilted head of cabbage.  
Our son, with clear, confused eyes,
Our sad, somber trophy.

And if ever I could traverse the space of time
I would readily reclaim
That first delicate kiss
you so tenderly bequeathed.