how simple

you see your father
stretched out on the plaid
couch, a cold beer
in a brown bottle
sweating in his hand.
the ball game on,
the car in the driveway
washed and clean,
the grass cut,
your mother in the kitchen
over the stove,
an estate of laundry
drying on the line.
how simple it seemed,
them buying into
the dream. pretending
all along
that this was what they
wanted.