Missing

MISSING
By Robert Lowes

He looks happy to be missing.
Is he missing out on screaming matches
between mom and dad, a bully on the block?
Our fliers omit such facts.

Of course, he was smiling for a camera,
the undisputed center of attention.
His self-esteem hit flood level.
The only thing missing was a blue ribbon.

Maybe he always felt missing.
A dad can look right through a kid
when the bills are stacked high.
A mom forgets to buy his favorite soda.

Maybe he's missing what he had:
Wrestling matches with dad.
Tolerated hugs from little sister.
He was riding a new bike, right?

My own boy asked me if I ever found
a missing kid. He wanted me to be a hero.
I told him yes, but spared him the details.
Ditches, garbage bags, folded notes.

I picture my boy on these fliers.
It's a way to torture myself
into telling him, "I love you."
Am I missing a screw?

The flush of blood is missing
from this photocopy. His eyes aren't brown.
I'm the one who laid
his school picture down on the glass.

I've stopped crying and praying
about the missing kid of the week.
The only flier worth nailing up
should say, "Missing God."

Call the sheriff's office, the flier says.
The public puts too much faith in us.
If I have to call the family tonight
about a body, I'm missing work tomorrow.

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