Harrisburg? Passed It About an Hour Ago

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The Western Front

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Perched on a cold metal washing machine
Across from the bright-lit vanity
Sunflowers grow and bloom
From the wall paper
In this dark black room
A voice shouts out "Hello?"
From the thick wooden oak door
"Is anyone home?"
They're not alone
As shoes pile up on the doormat
As engines die
And legs run up the front steps

A loud thud
Bending noise
From the washing machine
As I brace myself, slide off
My finger, the marker
The parter of pages
That die to be read
A '63 classic
And slightly romantic

In the kitchen a face appears
And shines, smiles
He'd like a drink of water
The wooden front door
With a face of glass
Is opened, closed
Opened again
As shouting voices
Spouting off their big plans
Acting out the day's events
Like a sidewalk show in a big town
We've never been to

Motioning hands and sock-covered feet
Start to resemble a Grant Wood painting
Hung above
The dining room table
It was fastened up high
By my mother with twigs
That curl around
The black trim frame and hang
Red berries cover
Some of the farmer's faces

We sit, the twelve of us
Collected at this dining room table 
To discuss the matters at hand
Like what are the plans
For the night?
And nobody says
That they'd rather just go to bed

So repetition leads us to the gas station
To fill ourselves with salt and sugar
We'd viddied every horror film they've got
So maybe get the one with the giant alligator
The windshield wipers turned on as...

The sky spit rain upon the roof of the house 
It was so dark
That we never saw it coming down
The moonlight shone through every drop
Along with car headlights parked
Created falling water white
Like a falling star assault on our little house
Like a falling star assault on our little house
Like a falling star assault on our little house

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