Bruce Pemberton is a retired high school teacher, coach, and Gulf War veteran. His most recent work has appeared in Sky Island Journal, Third Wednesday, American Life in Poetry, Foliate Oak, Duck Lake Journal, Ocotillo Review, Thimble, The Wild Word, Rigorous, Streetlight Magazine, Parousia, and the anthologies, In Tahoma's Shadow and Spokane Writes. He lives on the Palouse, in rural eastern Washington state.
Student Union, August 1997
The five-year-old is mine for
two weeks. We’re on campus
and he’s napping on a couch
near a solo piano rehearsal,
as we’re not passing up a free
recital.
I’m trying to study, he’s awake
now, recharged and running
all over and at that age, boys
don’t walk anywhere, as if they
might miss something by slowing
down.
From a pay phone, I call my de-
partment chair, who’s fifty miles
away, to find out when I need to
be back for meetings. Instead, he
tells me a fellow teacher’s three-
year-old dies from brain cancer.
Stunned, I say good-bye and hang
up, just as my son flies past me on
his way to the basement arcade.
I yell at him to get over here. He
slow-walks over, thinking, maybe,
what have I done this time? I grab
him, wrap him up in my arms, and
smother his small head with kisses.
Let’s get you an ice-cream cone,
I whisper. They have chocolate swirl,
he whispers back.