THE WAR BY SALLY K LEHMAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 87
Don’t know where they came from but
two flies are on the windshield
– combating, seemingly conjoined.
Hooked at what seems to be two backends.
As the he/husband to me/wife
moves the Chevy backwards,
the wings flitter like they two
would fly off as one,
as they came as one,
but their windshield battle goes on.
In the back seat
Twin A bickers at her clone.
Something about the song playing
being a wrong song.
And about which daughter
– combating, seemingly conjoined
– is allowed to choose.
Husband/father-of shifts, the truck moves forward,
the wings on the windshield flitter,
and the twins-of in the back fight.
Me/wife/mother-of watches the flies,
the pulling against winds shielded to us,
strong to the flies.
The which song of which the
battle-at-back rages,
he/father-of says to stop the fight
or songs will be things lost.
Twin B glares across at her clone,
and both fall into fret.
Lights turn red and Chevy stops,
Me/wife/mother-of tilts…