She arrives with a screech
and the rattle of rubber
soles on wood floors.
Gaze averted toward
the ceiling, she grabs
my finger and pulls me
toward the switch, a gateway
to her happiness, glee
at ceiling fan’s blur
that disturbs air and blends
with her distorted vision.
When bulbs burst into rays
of light, her mood reflected
from a simple light,
she releases me back
to my adulthood brood
and starts her weekly
chore to put all the little
cars and all the little
people back into
proper little rows.
Richard Dinges, Jr. works on his homestead beside a pond, surrounded by trees and grassland, with his wife, two dogs, two cats, and five chickens. North Dakota Quarterly, Studio One, Rockford Review, Spadina Literary Review, and Stickman Review most recently accepted his poems for their publications.