Irma waits by the window,

Vaguely looking down at her socks

And humming. Possibly her

Father will come home with a box

Of chocolates. Possibly

Not. Father's memory

Was never what it once was.

Shouldn't really drive anymore,

Either. As if in answer,

With a sound like blowing up your

Ears, Father's jeep crashes

Through Irma's wall. She says 

Bad words as several hundred 

Boxes of her favorite kind

Of chocolate fill her bedroom.

But she doesn't actually mind