One Way Street

Your eyes glare at your father.

You notice his small face,
weak shoulders, a chipping shawl around
for the weather change

like your mother’s
who, after pointing angry fingers
at your decision,
weeps silently.

The white centre line seaming dreams
with obligations runs
starker than ever;

being on either side of it,
you contemplate, would be too good.

Too good to be
true.

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