Weapons of Mass Distraction
We bring our children to the cocktail hour
with a battalion of toys—
blocks, books, board games, binoculars.
We want things to keep them occupied
so there will be opportunity to talk.
They play quietly on the floor near the fireplace,
orange glow on soft cheeks.
We sip sweet manhattans,
nibble herbed chevre on toast points,
discuss the charm of our new president and how
he will make American life more dignified.
There is debate about remodeling,
a battery of opinions on music,
strategically planned trips and a recent
version of Macbeth on stage.
Children hold camp as we retreat
further into banality, a jungle
of language our only defense
against the stealth determination of Death,
who waits to ambush us all.