Poem #27/30: "Puddle Jump" This is FLASH tho, right? (don't care!)

I want to be

the gun in my fathers hand. I want to be the wrong name on his wrist, I want to be his index finger I want my father's jean jacket. I want to be my father's. I want to be my father.  

his black jeans, wayfarers, white loafers, wool pullover sweaters smell of cigarettes and cold.

I want to be He who exits the hatch.  

*** 

The lamp he was given casts shadows on his face. He clicks it off before He slings his pack over his shoulder, spits and lights a cigarette (brand name: "Marlboro Red" in the states "This" back home) For a moment, he feels like a Movie Star Cowboy.

He finishes his smoke; and without adieu, in a puff of Red American dust,, he'a off again - swooping up and galloping off on his trusty 1042 into the darkness.

His Goal: get far away from that jet and tourist trap full of humans as fast as he can, and to stop for disinfectant; to run...as far into the future as his wife'll let him before she gets upset with him. (But he know's that's because she worries-? Then it'll be just her and the little one...) He told himself he'd stop and dial to her in ten, no - fifteen minutes. 

Anyway, he thought, exhaustedly: Peace Grimy Earthlings. I really hope you figure it out.