Irma waits by the window,
Vaguely looking down at her socks
And humming. Possibly her
Father will come home with a box
Of chocolates. Possibly
Not. Father´s memory
Was never what it once was.
Shouldn´t really drive anymore,
Either. As if in answer,
With a sound like blowing up your
Ears, Father´s jeep crashes
Through Irma´s wall. She says
Bad words as several hundred
Boxes of her favorite kind
Of chocolate fill her bedroom.
But she doesn´t actually mind