sitting on the front porch
I listen to the nuclear family
across the street meltdown
it’s Chernobyl, Rolling Hills Dr.
Wichita Kansas where life
moves like wheat in a high wind
a woman walking her dog
stops to witness the madness
as a man bursts from the house
he lugs a tattered tote bag
which he tosses into the trunk
of 1970’s vintage Americana
the broker from next door
steps outside drinking a beer
and shakes his head disgusted
we are all spectators
the man’s wife, carrying a child
runs out pleading to him
as he drives away, backfiring
