Weapons of Mass Distraction

We bring our children to the cocktail hour

with a battalion of toys—

blocks, books, board games, binoculars.

We want things to keep them occupied

so there will be opportunity to talk.

They play quietly on the floor near the fireplace,

orange glow on soft cheeks.

We sip sweet manhattans,

nibble herbed chevre on toast points,

discuss the charm of our new president and how

he will make American life more dignified.

There is debate about remodeling,

a battery of opinions on music,

strategically planned trips and a recent

version of Macbeth on stage.

Children hold camp as we retreat

further into banality, a jungle

of language our only defense

against the stealth determination of Death,

who waits to ambush us all.