New Fire in Old Forge

Fraudulent photos
show them smiling
under shades
laying face-down
on that dock
their toes not touching
the tea dumped in the lake
with a crossword and a book
between them, anything to distract
two hapless fools
from the writing on the mattress
clouds shaped like elephants
and the growing of her breasts
which would shortly shrink
to normal size
then wither with their love.

There are some things
for which one can't forgive.
The remainder gets trapped
in a bottle and shelved
until the liver calls for poison.

What do children know of casting stones?
What constitutes a child?
A clump of cells
we're stuck in
'til the Reaper calls us home.