One Day I was Too Heavy

It used to be lying across the backseat, eyes tight, feeling the turn onto your street and up the driveway, hearing the hum of the garage and the whispering; pretending to sleep to be carried upstairs and slipped into flannels. And eyes blink open to adulthood; just there, like sliding into a pair of damp swim trunks and the first cold moisture sticking to the thighs.