they unplug him around noon you watch his labored breathing till it stops thinking about the chances you had to say or do something hour later Dealer asks, What’s new? answer in mind, Just watched dad die muscle memory replies, Nothing much you leave with an 8th in your pocket on the way home you want to scream it to the cop who pulls you over for speeding. you only nod, offer some paltry excuse about being distracted wondering if he smells the weed not caring when he lets you go at night in your safe zone: rocking chair and locked door. you realize you’ve managed to avoid revelation, setting precedent: silence deafens before it implodes