Homestand

Baseball, hotdogs, apple pie and Chevrolet!


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Homestand
After explosions and applause the ostensibly
Normal families seem drunk as they pour
With hotdog-scented steam onto the street.
They hoot and slither through the dark
Wet of their bodies’ shadows, eyes euphoric
And self-lit as kids flap gloves but do not fly.
Last train to the suburbs leaves at midnight,
Faces now pissed, impatient, pressed like weasels
Off to little white enclaves to be processed.
Fireworks have left green vomit in the sky.
Humans hunched over carts claim booty.
One lifts a plastic inflatable bat and beats herself.