There’s no strangeness
Or disappointment
It’s not as bright
As those first mornings
Not as colorful
Or full of excitement
I’m not a kite aloft
Blown to Mexico
You’re not on a flight
To Florida
We’re settled now
In our Victorian village
With distant train sounds
And nightly coyotes
And all that disturbs our peace
Is Trump on TV...
Well, that and our children.
