If Truths Were Lies

by Laine Derr

All we observe are holiday
horrors, men stumbling
through our doors, tripping
over peeled linoleum, fallen
flesh drunk on yesteryear –
plum wine fortified against
us, children watching heroes
atomic drop their foes, pain
a televised illusion to them
not ones who know the moan
of a mom celebrating a day
of rest. I wonder where it’s
all gone, the single-wide,
lime green, filled with kids
and a woman, once a girl
who sings lullabies lilting
with love, Hush, my dear,
while lovers drool and cry.