A Simple Trip
By Reagan Bouchard
Year 1…
A simple trip.
Mom buckling the newborn into a shiny new car seat,
Embracing its precious head.
The radio faint,
Cautious not to wake the dreaming bomb.
Cradling the fragile being,
Laying it on the cold, hard seat.
Strapped to the moving grocery cart,
Bags dragging down her eyes trying to find the next meal.
Years later…
A simple trip.
Kids leaping into the old tan van,
Buckling into a worn pink car seat.
Mom turning on the repetitive radio,
Playing “Call Me Maybe” over and over again.
Racing out of the car trying to beat Mom to the door,
Scolded for running in the vacant parking lot.
Grasping the cart with grubby kid hands,
Mom pulls a wipe from the box and swipes it clean.
Bickering with siblings over who pushes the cart,
Running the wheels into an impatient mother.
The cart ripped away, becoming a lost privilege,
kids hushed into a silent stance, a cruel punishment.
Years later…
A simple trip.
Older sibling relinquishes their fun spirit,
Younger one left alone.
Mother picks her favorite song to play,
Second born sits on the pristine black seat with nobody next to them.
Windows kept on child lock,
Raindrops raced down the thick glass.
Mother declares one treat at the store,
Satisfying the testy child.
No ongoing feud over the unsanitary handle,
No racing mom in the streets.
Beginning to learn proper manner,
No cruel punishments.
Asking for all the best snacks,
Mom smacking hand away from the ice cream.
Asking for fast food on the way home,
The only reply being “We have food at home.”
Years later…
A simple trip.
Groceries become an unwanted desire,
Both kids saying no,
Mom left on her own,
Finally a break from chaos.
Only on rare occasions,
Company will be offered.
For a snack,
Or out of boredom.
Mom plays her country songs,
With only one voice to sing along.
Kids call mom to pick up their favorite snacks,
Adding cost to an overwhelming price.
Asking kids to help unload the groceries,
Kids are willing to help.
The family gathers around the trunk of the car,
Lifting loads of food off mom’s arms.
A peaceful trip,
No noisy sounds.
No fights nor punishments,
An easy task.
Years later…
A simple trip.
Mom embarks on her own,
No point in asking for a friend.
A chore that’s become despised,
Automatically assigned to the mom.
She drives secluded in her car,
The radio plays a solemn tune.
Fading prints from the kids’ old seats,
Windows rarely opened.
She trudges through the sliding doors,
Nobody by her side.
The vanished dispute over control of the whistling cart,
Lingers in her forgotten memories.
Sulking through the aisles,
Nobody to speak to.
Thinking of dinners everyone will enjoy,
Knowing complaints will be given anyway.
Doing all this to please those who have left,
Abandoned on her own,
The kids grew.
The kids are no longer content with just mom’s company.
She calls the kids’ phones,
Asking for help unloading.
To only discover their departure,
Mom knocks on the door to an empty house.
A simple trip,
Comprised of so many memories.
Worry, annoyance, joy, tranquillity, loneliness.
All wrapped so perfectly in such a simple task.
