by Francine DuBois
The mini-van pulls into the playground,
then quickly decides that it's going "over here,"
"Oh, look at the lake, honey. Let's drive a little further down"
trying to keep the kids from seeing the damn Wicca lesbians
eating Moonpies and Ritz crackers on the swingset.
The mother, the dentist's wife, would forever worry
about them leaving their germs on the slide
as they scooted down, complaining with their feminist mouths
about how the slide is slow, slowed down for the conservatives
and born-agains who fear losing control. The girls laugh and take
pictures of the trashcans for the photo album, snickering
the whole time like two activists who just
threw Molotov cocktails in a Seattle Starbucks.
Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's
Version -- Inspiration
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