In a bathrobe in the driveway 
the grandpa waves to the van. 
“I love you,” the little voices say. 

The first of two goodbyes today. 
Small one already busy with a crayon. 
Long Midwest farewell in the driveway. 

After the lengthy idle, leaving is okay 
because “I love you” so many times from the van 
sounds phony now. The mom says, 

“Stop saying that. It’s okay: 
Grandpa knows you love him. I can’t 
stand to see him cry. Honey, drive away.” 

“I can’t. His foot will be under the tire, okay?” 
The driver wants to drink the 99th can 
of beer on the wall. Then kids say, 

“Why is Grandpa crying? Is he okay?? 
Are we going to eat breakfast in the van? 
Are we ever leaving the driveway? 
What is it you won’t say?” 

Bio: Elizabeth Kerlikowske