Teenage Traffic Sign

My son

is a whip curve

line with all bite

and no bend.

His sign

is tall and lanky

with a harsh


and orange hazard


I never see the electricity

until it crackles 

from his mouth.

Teenage years

are traffic stop lights

that blink

between moods

and I am caught on a long red.

The manual 

edited with pencil marks

and scream match

door slams,

then handed to the next one

in the line of parenting.

The rules

every changing in his face

but the same 

as my high school pictures.


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