A Great Siesta

We sit on our concrete patios,
next to our vinyl-sided houses.
Ice cubes tinker in cups
as we eat our grilled aparagus
and watch the kids
romp in the sprinkler.

Cold, sugary rainbows
drip down their faces.
Reminiscent propaganda.
Iconic American calendar.

So sunny.

Tangerine hued chatter
fills the air and walls us
into our festivities.
We feel
netted,
vetted,
and safe...for a while.

Meaningless banter
as grease sizzles
and toddlers wriggle
for another piece
of apple pie.

Selfies fly,
statuses post,
neighbors boast
about their garden.
But, no one speaks
of atrocities

Our sun-laden lawns
are all the mowing we want.
Let the ticketers take
care of the rest.
Surely, if this were a test
of testimonials,
we would all fail.

No summer shandy
behind the bars of jail,
or on the bully buses
heading for the river.
And our kids quiver
as the sun sets down.

Little feet scramble for towels,
as we shuffle our dead presidents,
freshly laundered, into towers
we will never step in.
We grin as the nights'
jubilation fuzzies our heads.

Sip.
Sip.

No spirits in the rubble
of other lands,
of our land.
But, we never speak of that.
And our babies, fed and happy,
toddle off to bed.