girls pose like little models,
even the baby smiles
underneath the bright flashes
(she’s not a baby anymore–
why must i be reminded
that five years
have slipped into oblivion?)

the clouds move in
on a Sunday afternoon,
a semi-quiet house
where they pretend to pick up
while we lie on the couch
reminiscing the twin bed
we shared so many years ago.

(with money clenched
like fists in pockets,
we borrowed furniture,
walked across ant-biting carpet,
washed dishes by hand,
roasted like oily chicken
in the absence of central air)

is it so different now,
our money spilling out
into the screens of tomorrow,
the cool air tickling our skin
as their tweeting songs
remind us of all we have seen,
all we have yet to see?