I see glimpses of my parents 

that sometimes slip through 

Before me, they were young, resourceful, tried their best 

My mother adopted a feral cat 

which destoyed their furniture when they vacationed 

My father rode a bike and carried packages and ate sandwhiches 

for lunch 

Who were those people? 

I grieve for them but it does and means nothing

My father threatens to hit bikers in his Honda Civic 

My mother calls beggars dirty, 

tells me not to look 

They're wrung out now

We laugh, 

but they are tired and I'm tired 

I don't want to see anymore