Wide awake like a parent or spouse,
the worry having caterpillared
down my spine crawls
into my mouth: where were you?
He stands at the front door,
a breathalyzer sticker on his chest.
Floating letters glean—
He did not pass.
Downcast, he stares at my fingers,
waiting for the wag and point.
Relief. My father’s alive.
I shut my eyes to keep from waking up.