Jacaranda Tree Bar

by Tim Tipton

The five o'clock whistle wheels.
It is nearly dusk.  Darkness surrounds
a perfect sunset.
All the men are coming home.
Wives run out to meet them.
It's a clear clean night.
But the only thing my father wants
is waiting for him in a magic circle
within the best bar in town.
As daylight begins to slowly fade,
my father is torn. Between his
responsibility to my mother,
to   his minimum wage
job as a roust-about in the oil field
and the pull he feels
toward jacaranda tree
bar at the corner
from our house.