don't wanna pee on your parade,
but the thing is
we stopped believing
that shit
on prom night

trusted you again
although you were clearly
squirming at the altar

your child's nose
is bruised from
watching at the window--
it's too late for toy trucks

After the fight
your fist won
you sent
birthday cards
from Vegas.
bluemoonjune
pansy flowered shit
hand-picked from the rack
at the circus circus

then came hushed calls
from cell phones
begging, begging
again, again, again,

so, light your bon fires
sing your repentance songs
but we're so far down the road
toward Jordan
you're gonna need a Geneva
accord to get us
anywhere near
that table

---

©1998 by Rowena Silver

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