With a Start

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 WITH A START


A hundred times at least—

the coach calling my name 


as I fumble frantically 

to lace my cleats with inopposable 


thumbs, and other variations 

of the same: a rowdy class 


I can’t quiet, misplaced keys

as Gracie’s contractions rev


their engine, lost lecture notes

while the crowd leans in, expectant.


But what frightens more me is how

I jolt awake with a start, falling,


not late for anything, 

my wife and children asleep 


in their beds, falling, falling,

again and again, into believing


that—thank God— now 

I’m back in the driver's seat.


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