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.