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

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