"It Took Two Days

7 0 0
                                    

for me to find you

after you really left,"

my mother whispers.

And for once,

I smell no Jack Daniels

on her breath.

"I knew you were with Ryan,

but after that I had no idea.

Once you got in the accident,

the hospital saw your ID.

They contacted me right after."

She bows her head.

I'm surprised to hear

so much real concern in her voice,

no hint of roadkill.

Does Judy, mom, really love me?

Or did she stop downing alcohol

to make a good impression

on the hospital workers?

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