We drove to Canada for Christmas
to avoid your mother’s funeral.
We met Natalie and Hugo,
and they sang songs about love.
Love is just a flood of chemicals in the brain.
After the show, you walked out with the glass cup
emblazoned with the venue’s insignia
and I wouldn’t let you give it back
because everyone ought to take something once.
In high school, for instance, I stole
the speed bump from the senior parking lot
because my bedroom needed more seating.
And did you know,
if you mash three bananas
with flour and vanilla
and butter and sugar
you can make a loaf of bread
and it’s not love, just science.
Your psychologist said
adolescents cling to mythical icons
as an escape from the fear of adulthood.
We’re adults now, orphans on the lam.
We’ve done a good job of growing up:
paying rent and buying groceries.
I have three degrees and a pile of
applications to graduate school.
You have too many chemicals in your brain
and I still prefer my mythical icons
to Natalie and Hugo’s serenades.