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