-It's how it was-

He's on the road behind the steering wheel,—

Could be Buick, could be Pontiac.

Could be Chevy.

My father would be driving the Mid-Cape
Back from Hyannis through Buzzards Bay
Toward New Bedford into Fall River

And home from the long day's sales.

She's at the kitchen sink.

Could be looking out the window,

Could be swiping the oilcloth or sponging

The pantry counter down.

My mother could be standing at the gas stove.

It’s how it was.

We were home long before my father. We changed

Our school clothes into the beaten stuff we were still told

To keep clean,— our mother simply rolling

The words from her mouth in her commonplace
Attitude every afternoon when my brother left the house

To meet his whacky little friends

And I’d leave the house
Crossing the street to the park to meet-up with mine.

My sister didn’t have to be told to keep her clothes clean.

I don’t want to get into it.

In a few hours my father will drive up to the curb,

Move outside from behind the wheel,— could be Buick,

Entering the house through the kitchen door.

Could be wood.

Could be screened.

Quequechan