Finding a way out

They chose the same day—
Dillinger waltzing his way

out of Crown Point
brandishing a wooden

pistol, my uncle Walter
clench fisted

and crying, a fifth
mouth to feed

in a two-room house
on frozen farmland.

The hopes pinned
on first sons—the name

of the father handed down
no consideration

of how it will look
in headlines. Another gun

metal cold
front approaches.

A stolen car speeds
toward Minnesota, delivering Dillinger

and Billie to set up a love nest,
a hideout, several towns over

from where this new boy
lies quiet, relieved

to be on the outside.