print versionLACY BARKER
Fight or Flight
Your oldest is born to fight: your lullaby,
your warning, your breast.
Yet, road blocked, he gives way, puts a gun
in his mouth, runs from
capture to death. After, your husband loses
his fight, too, retreats west
for bar-breathing and grief. You wash and press
left-behind shirts, pass
them down to Freddie, Doc, and Lloyd—
Lloyd, the only son
who will outlast the gangs, the Depression,
you. He’ll marry, move,
stock shelves at the market, learn honest
work. Then one night
his wife, threatened by something unseen,
will put a hole in his head
at the table. If only she had surrendered
to instinct as old as beasts:
turned her back, stretched her legs. Fled. 
Fight or Flight
The Lost Boys
Ma the Movie Star