He's just making sure the tractor works, now go to sleep. She blesses their foreheads, leaves the door open a crack, and disappears. Down the hall her voice spills into the phone. The older boy buries his head under his pillow as his brother climbs in. Dad's grinding orbit rattles close, then off around the house.
Rattles close, then off around the house.
His headlights wobble onto their wall as he bounces over the lawn, the driveway, the flower bed, the sandbox. Shadows of tree branches drag across their trophies and team photos, down their closet door and away. When sunlight breaks their windowpane, they wake late for school and dress with no words. The bus thunders past their house. They stare at soggy stars and moons floating in their cereal bowls.