Plastic Parade (a poem)

duck-face-mom-yearA-typical Rolex submariner sits on the dad’s wrist like a beacon of arrival,
his too-tight Ed Hardy tee sticks to his cross fit chest like an extra layer of skin.
those hours in the gym, the broccoli, the grilled chicken, the spinach salads……
Eyes scanning the crowd looking for that 25 year-old who hasn’t yet sunk the botox into her forehead

Wifey to his left, flipping her platinum dyed hair again and again and again
She, looking for someone to make fun of, looking for someone to help her feel better about her collagen duck-faced lips,

her third tit job, her fourth anal bleaching, her fifth affair with a new trainer,Tattoo reads “MILF” along the panty line that only a select 50 or so willing erections get to see.

She, peering at the younger women while licking her lips with the misguided confidence of an American Idol contestant

“I’m going to be a star.  I am a star,” she thinks as a grin tries to escape from the 2nd facelift.
Their two kids, running around unsupervised, forgotten and discarded like pawns on a chess board, sacrificed at the first inconvenience
they only offer easy access to a new crop of networking zombies and potential joy-fucks handshaking at soccer games and birthday parties

within a couple years the weed turns to acid, turns to coke, turns to snorting every pill in the cabinet,
mom and dad no fucking clue how this could have happened to those perfect kids

“But we gave them the best that money could buy,” they would say.  Private schools,  Debutante balls, new car on their 16th,

none can replace the fact that you slurped their souls from their innocent bodies before they even had a chance, before they could even think for themselves,
all for your incessant need for attention

But it will all end soon, divorce number 1,
she will get the house, half the 401-K, the boat and a nice monthly alimony deposit

but he will always get the 25 year-old who reminds him of what you used to be.
that he will always have……. because that’s how this shit works


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