It started on the drive home.
The new car wash in town
was having a grand opening.
Laughing people eating sloppy Joe
while matching faces in red t-shirts beamed,
their hands full of sopping sponges.
I turned and the words spilled out
after one soft spoken drip.
I wish my family owned a car wash together.
Or a stand at the farmers market together.
I imagined barefooted children
helping old women carry watermelons.
I wish we were the type of family to
own a diner together,
and I'd serve on roller skates.
The flood from eyes and mouth began.
Or own a roller rink, with theme nights on Tuesdays.
Or a gas station, or a drive in movie theater.
I couldn't stop.
I wish we owned a family farm
and took silly photos in muddy overalls
after five AM breakfasts together.
Or ran a summer camp, or an antique shop.
I wish we were the kind of family
that walked 5k's for a cure.
Each confession slammed shut with together.
Each dissolved into the air
like a child's dream to walk on stars.