And so it was. We came after the festival.
The six of us on top of each other in your
Brother’s Washington condo. One small vacuum
In the tiny front closet, hat rack by the door.
Our girls put up a fight over who sleeps where
So you and I, to be fair, rotated to the floor.
It’s always like that. Teaching them to share.
Telling them to put their shoes on. “Down the
Road,” we said, “are fields of plenty, with
Ruby hued loot, and lavender for the taking.
Go! Look and see the world out there.” So after
Some convincing, they scurried away from us,
Hopping sad fences, plucking berries off of vines,
Golden-haired girls swallowing fresh country air.
Each one giddy from their sun-streamed adventure,
The promise of treasure in a fruity oasis, and
The gift we extended which was the apparent lack
Of proper parental guidance and over-bearing control.
Written for Real Toads