Hey!

Hey, Mom!

This one’s for You!

Hey, Dad!

This one’s for Mom!

We’re done here,

genetically, or, just

in memory.

All the Christmases,

those memories that

seem like implants now.

Soon, our lives will be

preserved in museums

if they already aren’t now.

The tablecloth is being

pulled so fast that the dishes

hardly quiver.

What’s left makes us shiver

in the nakedness of the light

of how we’ve been fooling 

ourselves all along.

How refreshing!