Father wanted formal,
mother wanted humor.
The masked casino caricaturist
airbrushes my parents,
while my sister and I launch pennies
into a fountain of firework light,
strong reds and violets casting
themselves over water.
Watching father and mother
together on the patrons’ terrace,
I wonder if they will flash
garish lips and teeth,
with hot roses and sweet cash
in hand, emerge as unabashedly
rapturous as in their photographs
before marriage.
My sister’s final penny elapses
past neon; coin machines drown
its splash out in the musical
winnings of gamblers.
Submerged in the hollow
comfort of synthetic heat,
father and mother reawaken
into childhood, two innocents
in the womb of my vision.
How I desire a sphere of glass
to encase them inside this safety—
a gift shop souvenir
preserved on a fireplace mantle.
That we never let our family go:
this is my wish upon fallen pennies.
