We watched snow and wrapped
foil around the rabbit’s
ears lusting for definition.
And if you sat just right
and lifted your leg in the air
sitting next to dad’s chair
and if he didn’t accidentally poke
you with his burning cigarette
then
the picture would be clear
and you’d laugh when prompted
and mom would buy sugary
cereals and dinners prepared in tin
so we could sit and listen and believe
what we were told about
Cuba and
Missiles and the
President’s dead
“he was shot in the head” and
Medgar and
Malcolm and
Martin Luther King
“there goes the dream” and
‘Nam and the
Panthers and the
President lied
“wish he would’ve died” and
hippies and
protests and
love and not war
“what are we fighting for?”
We sat in the living room, the family room,
in the family room, living – not dying,
and watched the set and didn’t
miss a thing.
