LEFT RIGHT LEFT

by Howie Good

You’re already halfway home or more when you remember
you forgot the baby in a shopping cart in the vast parking
lot. Oh, they’ll wail, how could you? And saying your
brain was temporarily deprived of oxygen isn’t a good
answer. So, of course, you look with newfound seriousness
for a place to turn around, but there is none, only the
thud of night smashing into your windshield. All you can
do now is drive faster and faster through the sirens and
confusion, the hairless face of the cretinous moon beaming
over your left – no, your right – no, your left –
shoulder.