Poem Excluding Online Dating

September 16, 2016

In the cemetery, we are the golden age

of buzzcuts. The shadows conjugate

the sunlight into an architecture of

loss. Then evening with it interns.

And the perfect mother feeding her

children at a small kitchen table. And 

a father grimacing out the window

with a mustache so long it scares small

animals back into the forest. Music

peels the walls in a question of color.