on the phone
my daughter tells me
she spent the afternoon
with her brother,
impromptu
not arranged by
me. There’s one.
She asks the name
of the man I went on one
date with and I say,
It’s Axe—
but that might not be his real name,
more of a motorcycle gang nickname.
And she says,
I can’t tell if you’re joking.
Laughing. There’s another.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 
This poem just has so much life in it. On second read, even more. And, the reader kind’a gets to discover that for themselves (if that makes sense). Re-reading your “about”, I think that woman has come home. I am happy for you.