Divorce coming like a war I can’t afford,
bud and I ride our bike down
to the reservoir. Somewhere during therapy
he falls asleep in his seat behind me,
and his Hulk slips from his grasp:

When he wakes we take frantic laps
around the water, searching for his figurine.
Empty, I return by myself in the following days
after leaves fall and snow comes and goes,
eyes straining from studying fringes of the path
with small hopes of returning home a hero.

It’s harder to grip the meaning of the loss
than the loss itself — that’s filled by
an Amazon order set to arrive at our door
any day now, even while each spring morning
I kiss my wife’s cheek as she turns away in bed,
still awaiting word on the park ranger’s search.