Amanda was on the phone. 

She was coming to town for another wedding. 

“I’m bringing the Mixed Numbers with me. 

Can I leave them with you? 

It’s just for the weekend.” 

 

What was I supposed to say? 

Leave them in the car? 

Mixed Numbers expiring

Their brains boiling in the Subaru

In a church parking lot while

Some happy couple…

 

I had visions of the crate

In the back of her car bouncing

As she talked and drove over

Some crazy highway her evil GPS

Had picked to bring her from western Kansas,

 

A white-gloved cartoon hand

Reaching between rough-wood slats to open

A door as she drove,

Another to tip over a water dish. 

Yet another finding its way into the upholstery.

 

“Uhmmm, I’ve got room in the garage. 

It’s heated.  I can park my car in the drive.”

I can hose the garage down

And re-paint it later,

I’m thinking.

“Oh, thank you daddy.

You’re the best.”