The Children Are Singing

They’ve got the chairs unfolded and
Planted at the end of the driveway, facing
The world parade, and the children are
Singing say say oh playmate come out
And play with me
which Granny taught
Them on our last visit home. Inside the
Voices that dust the empty rural
Route is all of the tomorrows:
His girlfriend who chooses
A different college; Her
Roommate who fucks the guy
She loved; The panel of heartache they
Disappear behind:
Blindness to beauty,
Most of all, that comes
When desire dresses as love and
Hides them from themselves
Until they feel safe, get older,
Come out and in age, again, feel
Fine just fine with
Sitting and staring at
An empty road and
Singing into tomorrow.