by William Skink
it’s the end of the night
and the kid in the backyard
is digging in his heels
the stern voice doesn’t work
the countdown doesn’t work
he goes dead wood on me,
won’t budge—
then I remember my wife’s use
of mountain lion
when he won’t progress on a trail
mosquito, I say
and he scrambles up,
runs inside
this is how they run the world,
I think
before taking my tired bones
to bed