Two Poems
by Kristin LaTour
A Loaf of Bread, A Container of Milk, and a Stick of Butter
We went to the store, or the neighbors’, and were told to be back
when the streetlights came on, or the darkness made stars shine.
Somehow, in the land of Stranger Danger, we were still Sesame
Street magical and firefly safe. Somehow, conversations today
leave us out, as invisible in the dusk as the Ford LTDs and Oldsmobile
Deltas that cruised by as we hid in ditches and behind trees.
We played baseball games with ghosts on first, in treehouses
so high up that a fall could mean death, spun out of control
on merry-go-rounds, where later we were only apparitions.
Poor millennials, our offspring, missed out on playing outside,
corrupted by what became of our Ataris and Intellivision,
cable channels multiplying like horny bunnies, trophies
for everyone and MTV glorifying teenage pregnancy. Our reality
of in-between lies forgotten like Donahue and Guiding Light,
white bread memories sandwiched over the peanut butter
aspirations we grew allergic to, some itch lingering like shingles,
as we go the store and can’t remember what we meant to buy.
The Future Was Never the Whole Issue
“I Weep for the Future.” Maître D’ in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
The parade party ended
in confetti and cheers
that resounded beyond Chicago
but the mess was left behind
sticky and dissolving.
We were all feeling
the pit-of-the-stomach
dread that went with
pushing a sportscar
into a ravine.
We went to college
and became something,
comedians and insurance salesmen.
Over our heads hung
not water towers blazoned
with our hero’s name
but skyscraper expectations.
Today when asked for our opinions
the answer comes back blank, blinking.
We were supposed to want
money and Ferraris.
We wanted peace and attention.
We take our kids to therapy
to avoid the sickness
that was rampant in our veins.
We weep for their future.
We remind ourselves adulthood
is a little childish and stupid,
but then so was high school,
and college, and capitalism.
We call in sick. Catch a ballgame.
Life moves pretty fast.
We’re asking why we’re still here,
but the credits aren’t over.
Kristin LaTour’s first full-length collection, What Will Keep Us Alive, is available from Sundress Publications. Her most recent chapbook is Agoraphobia, from Dancing Girl Press. Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Rhino, Adroit, Cider Press Review, Tinderbox, and Massachusetts Review and in the anthology Obsession: Sestinas in the 21st Century. She is the founder of the Aurora Writers Workshop, teaches at Joliet Jr. College and lives in Aurora, IL. Her fave pizza toppings are sausage, mushrooms and black olives on thin crust with extra cheese.
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