He wasn't even going to sit with his son.


Part 67 of the 73-part series called "moon photos"

He walked right past him barely looking down.
His eyes like headlights scanning the road.
Like a train’s lone lamp nailed to the track through the darkness.
Nothing exists but forward.
His son told himself he wasn’t bothered.
He stared into his plate like it was going to tell him something.
Like a heron watching the currents of the water.
The things moving darkly under the currents.
The son was a stone under the fish under the water under the heron under the sky.
He was far removed from everything and cold.
The father passed, smoke billowing after him.
A lone whistle sounded out in his heart.
The son glanced up and caught his back in his beak.
His face shone for the rest of the day.