Tears fall silently down your grubby cheeks
Like the condensation that slides so smoothly
Down the sides of the lemonade glasses
Of the people next door
The women with their sundresses and
Broad, broad-brimmed hats
And the men standing, oh so proudly, in front of their
Shiny, new barbecues
They all laugh
And you press your
Fingers
Against the window, that dirty, dirty pane
Trying to breach that portal, and
To don the wings of the angel
That stands, so, so beautifully
Upon the stained glass in church
The one that, more than any God
Promises that you, too
Can be happy like them
And wash away the lemonade tears
But it gets, oh so, so hard to believe her
Sometimes…